THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Carle ton  Shay 


CITY     LEGENDS 


BY 

WILL  CARLETON 

AUTHOR   OF 

"FARM  BALLADS"  "FARM  LEGENDS" 
"FARM  FESTIVALS"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  EDITION  FROM  NEW  PLATES 


NEW   YORK   AND   LONDON 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1889,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


All  rights  reserved. 
Copyright,  1898,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


•ps 


Dedicated 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

"JUDDIE" 


813764 


PREFACE 


IT  will  be  noticed  that  these  Legends  are  di 
vided  into  seven  different  Chains.  Whether  the 
links  of  dialogue  and  interlude  with  which  they 
are  connected  be  gold,  silver,  or  base  metal,  the 
author  will  not  say — he  really  does  not  pretend 
to  know.  Whether  the  pendants  of  poems  that 
hang  from  them  be  diamonds,  pearls,  rubies,  or 
worthless  paste,  how  can  he  guarantee  ?  Liter 
ary  jewelry  (if  poetry  may  be  so  called)  depends 
largely  for  its  value  upon  the  eyes  that  gaze  upon 
it  and  the  hearts  that  wear  it. 

The  real  preface  to  this  book  is  formed  by  those 
which  have  preceded  it  from  the  same  author ;  a 
like  purpose  actuates  them  all.  But  he  takes 
another  opportunity  to  thank  his  large  family  of 
readers  for  their  continued  faithfulness  and  loy 
alty,  and  to  assure  them  that  he  is  still  laboring 
to  deserve  their  respect  and  affection. 

C. 


CONTENTS 


FIRST   CHAIN— Including, 

PAGE 

DIALOGUES    3 

LEGEND  SONG 4 

THE  SANDAL-MAKER  OF  BABYLON 9 

FARMER  STEBBINS  TOBOGGANS 14 

DIOGENES'  DAUGHTER 20 

FARMER  STEBBINS  AT  THE  BAT 26 

DIONYSIUS'  MIRROR 32 

UNCLE  NATE'S  FUNERAL 37 

SECOND  CHAIN— Including, 

DIALOGUES 43 

THE  HERO  OF  THE  TOWER 49 

A  WOMAN'S  DEVOTION  ;  OR,  TRUE  TO  BROTHER  SPEAR  .  58 
TWELVE  O'CLOCK  :  A  LEGEND  OF  BROOKLYN     ....  62 

THIRD   CHAIN— Including, 

DIALOGUES 73 

HYMN  OF  THANKSGIVING 78 

THE  VOICE  OF  A  STAR  ;  OR,  THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  EVE  80 

THE  OLD  HYMN-BOOK 84 

THE  PASTOR'S  FAREWELL 87 

THE  CONVICT'S  CHRISTMAS  EVE 90 


Viii  CONTENTS 

FOURTH   CHAIN— Including, 

PAGE 

PRELUDES 99 

THE  CAPTAIN  is  ASLEEP 101 

THE  VESTAL 104 

SONG  OF  THE  UNBUILT  SHIP 106 

THE  SERPENT  OF  THE  STILL 108 

FIFTH   CHAIN— Including, 

DIALOGUES 113 

THE  NEGRO  FUNERAL 115 

THE  FOUR  TRAVELLERS 119 

THE  EARTHQUAKE  PRAYER 123 

SIXTH   CHAIN— Historical  Drama. 

SCENE  I. — BENEDICT  ARNOLD  AT  QUEBEC 131 

SCENE  II. — AT  PHILADELPHIA 134 

SCENE  III. — NEAR  LONDON 138 

SEVENTH   CHAIN— Including, 

DIALOGUES 147 

KIDNAPPED  IN  MERCY 153 

LADY  BOUNTIFUL'S  TRIUMPH.    .    .    ,  .160 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"INTO    THE    BAY  —  THE    GREAT,    WIDE,    WEALTH- 
FRINGED  BAY  " Frontispiece 

"THE  KING  WITH   A   HUMOROUS   SENSE".      .      .      .   Facing  p.  IO 

"  WITH  SOBER  FACE,  BUT  EYES  UPON  THE  BROAD 
EST  KIND  OF  GRIN" "  18 

"SIR,  I  AM  YOUR  DAUGHTER,  IF  YOU  PLEASE"    .  "  22 

"PRODUCED  AN  UNFORESEEN  RESULT      ....  "  30 

"AND  THEY  HAVE  SCAMPERED  FAR  AND  NEAR".  "  38 

"TRUE  TO  BROTHER  SPEAR1' "  58 

"...  A  FORM — OR  WAS  HE  DREAMING?"  ...  "  68 
"AND    O'ER    THEIR    SHOULDERS    HIS    ARMS    HE 

THREW" "  88 

"AN  OPEN  CHURCH  DOOR  SOME  LOOK  OF  WEL 
COME  WORE" "  94 

"TENDER  WORDS  OF  HIM  ARE  SAID" "  IO2 

"HE  TWINES  ABOUT  HER  TREMBLING  LIFE"    .     .  "  IIO 
"AN'  HE  SAID,  'NOW  DON'  BE  WEEPIN'  FOR  DIS 

PRETTY   BIT   O'   CLAY'"   .........  "  Il6 

"...  WILL  YOU  REAP  THIS  FIELD  OF  GLORY?".  "  132 
"I  HAVE  NO  FRIEND  IN  EARTH,  OR  HEAVEN,  OR 

HELL" "  142 

"THERE'S  MANY  A  GREEN  LITTLE  GRASS-MOUND"  "  152 


CITY   LEGENDS 


FIRST    CHAIN 


CITY  LEGENDS 


ffirst   Chain 

SCENE,  a  Farm-house  Parlor.  Various  delegates  from  six  fami 
lies  are  present.  Storm  •  concert  out  in  the  darkness,  and 
waves  of  snow  drifting  against  the  east  windows.  Large 
fireplace,  full  of  forest-logs,  gradually  turning  to  flame-col 
ored  gold. 

EDITH  (a  blue-eyed  girl}. 

Tis  Legend-night ;  and  all  our  club  are  here, 
Except  the  new  school-master :  who  will  come 
A  little  later. 

ISABEL  (a  black-eyed  girt). 

For  he  told  you  so? 

EDITH  (primly). 

He  told  us  all  so.     While  we  wait  for  him, 
He  said  we  should  not  merely  wait,  but  work, 
And  sing  the  Legend  Song  in  our  best  style. 

HARRY  (a  tall  young  man). 
The  one  he  taught  you  ? 


4  CITY   LEGENDS 

EDITH  (tartly). 

One  he  taught  us  all. 
He  shows  no  partiality  in  school. 

[Quiet,  incredulous  laughter. 
DAVID  (a  short,  fat  young  man). 
Allow  me,  Edith,  since  he  is  not  here, 
To  lead  you  to  the  organ  fearlessly. 

[Ripples  of  restrained  laughter.    All  sing. 

LEGEND  SONG 


Dreamy  legends  of  the  past, 
Sombre-hued  or  pleasant, 
Though  by  sun  or  cloud  o'ercast, 

You  display  the  present ! 
And  the  future  you  can  see, 
For  what  was,  again  shall  be ; 
Shadows  far  ahead  you  cast, 
Dreamy  legends  of  the  past ! 


ii 


Stirring  legends  of  to-day, 
Draped  in  modern  dresses, 

How  you  light  the  darksome  way 
Of  the  past  recesses ! 

Showing,  as  the  age  goes  on, 

What  men  were  in  days  agone ; 


FIRST    CHAIN  5 

For,  with  inconsistence  strange, 
Times  may  change,  but  never  change. 

A  knock  at  the  outer  door.  Enter  SCHOOL-MASTER,  well 
covered  with  snow.  All  spring  to  meet  him  except 
EDITH,  who  remains  at  the  organ,  studying  the  music. 

SCHOOL  -  MASTER  (to  the  others,  after  glancing   at 

EDITH). 

Well,  here  I  come ;  still  in  the  human  form, 
Half-victim  of  a  nineteenth-century  blizzard ; 
Yet  wholly  pleased ;  because  you  have  agreed 
That  one  night  in  the  week  you  will  devote 
To  legends  of  the  present  and  the  past, 
Dropping  those  games,  whose  names  I  now  forget — 

DAVID  (the  fat  young  man,  eagerly). 
Snap  up  and  catch  'em,  Charley  can't  catch  me, 
Green  grow  the  rushes,  Oats  peas  beans  and  barley, 
Threading  the  needle,  Jack-straws,  blind-man's-buff, 
Going  to  Rome — 

All  the  girls. 

Enough  !  enough !  the  Legends ! 

Enter  some  OLDER  PEOPLE,  timidly,  and  are  given  chairs 
by  MABEL,  a  brown-eyed  girl,  and  others. 

One  of  the  OLDER  PEOPLE. 
Are  we  admitted  to  the  company  ? 

SCHOOL-MASTER. 

This  is  a  game  that  every  age  can  play. 
Now  first  let  us  go  back  to  ancient  times : 


6  CITY    LEGENDS 

To  some  of  those  old  cities  of  the  past ; 
Those  killed  and  buried  cities  of  the  past, 
And  yet  which  live,  as  truly  now  as  then. 

Squire  STOUT  (a  florid,  middle-aged  man). 
I've  seen  the  pictures  of  them  ruined  towns, 
But  noticed  nothin'  much,  excep',  perhaps, 
Some  stone-piles,  ditches,  heaps  of  earth,  an'  things 
That  looked  like  broken  steeples  out  o'  churches. 

SCHOOL-MASTER. 

And  yet  they  live — those  cities  of  the  past: 
They  were  not  burned — nor  were  they  beaten  down 
By  the  iron  shoes  of  conquest ;  lightning  broke 
From  its  black  floating  jail  of  clouds,  and  dealt 
Hot,  glistening  blows  upon  them  ;  earthquakes  came, 
And  shook  them  by  the  throat ;  tornadoes  rushed 
In  loud,  swift  journeys,  through  the  staggering  streets, 
And  crowded  them  with  coffins  ;  rot  and  sloth, 
Corruption,  Hate,  Greed,  War,  and  blear-eyed  Lust 
Have  been  disastrous  citizens;  until 
The  cities  seemed  to  sink,  corpse-like,  in  earth. 
And  yet  they  live,  old  cities  of  the  past. 

Squire  STOUT. 

I  s'pose  perhaps  that's  true ;  it  sounds  like  print ; 
But  I  don't  seem  to  catch  the  meaning  on't. 

SCHOOL-MASTER. 

Those  walls  and  domes  their  people  blindly  built, 
Were  naught  except  thin  shells,  round  city-souls ; 
The  mounds  where  we  for  treasures  grope  and  search, 
Are  cemeteries,  holding  their  crushed  bones. 
Two  forms  have  all  things;  that  which  cannot  live, 
And  that  which  cannot  die. 


FIRST  CHAIN  7 

Squire  STOUT. 

Too  deep  for  me. 

SCHOOL-MASTER. 

They  live  in  many  worlds.     On  History's  plains, 
Their    towers    still    camp   beneath    the    bright  -  eyed 

sun. 

The  student's  lamp  illumes  their  sombre  streets, 
The  architect  is  measuring  up  their  walls, 
The  merchant  knows  the  tonnage  of  their  ships, 
The  history-general  fights  their  battles  o'er, 
The  theologian  trims  their  temple-fires, 
And    delves    among    their    creeds,    both    false    and 
true ; 

Squire  STOUT  (aside). 

We  did  not  hire  the  teacher,  I'll  be  bound, 
To  go  round   nights,  and  spout  such  stuff  as  this. 

SCHOOL-MASTER  (continuing). 
They  live  among  the  hills  of  poesy. 
The  artist  throws  their  ancient  colors  on 
The  hungry  regions  of  his  canvas  page ; 
The  weird  romancer,  with  sharp-pointed  pen 
That  pricks  the  veins  of  human  nature  dry, 
Has  brought  them,  in  Imagination's  ships, 
Real  men  and  women,  gathered  from  all  lands 
And  times — and  mingled  by  his  wizard  touch. 
The  poet  says  that  fancy,  love,  and  hate, 
With  kiss  of  velvet  or  with  tread  of  iron, 
Once  walked  the  pavement  of  those  minds  and  hearts. 

Squire  STOUT  (aside). 

Oh,  poetry  be  hanged  :  it  never  ploughed 
A  field,  or  mowed  an  acre  of  marsh-grass. 


8 

SCHOOL-MASTER  (continuing). 
Perhaps  they  are  in  Future-land ;  where  those 
Who  lived  in  them  a  while,  now  live  for  aye. 
Perchance,  among  their  memory-household  wares, 
They  bore  away  mind-pictures  of  the  towns— 
The  old  half-loved,  half-hated  towns  of  earth. 
Do  they  not  often  build,  in  that  long  dream- 
So  vivid  that  it  makes  this  fleet-paced  life— 
But  half-remembered—seem  itself  a  dream— 
The  cherished  walls  and  towers  of  ancient  times? 
Exiles  from  home,  they  drag  home  after  them ; 
And  in  their  memory  the  old  cities  live. 

Squire  STOUT  (aside,  yawning). 
I'd  drag  myself  home,  if  it  wasn't  so  cold. 

SCHOOL-MASTER  (continuing), 
Now  tell  us  tales,  old  cities  of  the  past ! 
Give  us  some  stories  of  your  short  earth-life! 
Tell  us  some  ancient  legends,  that  may  be 
Both  like  and  unlike  to  the  present  days. 
Furnish  some  useful  lesson,  that  The  Past— 
That  famed  professor  of  all  sciences — 
May  teach  us,  from  his  century-woven  chair ! 

Forth   from   the   heaped -up   mounds   that  mark  the 

throne 

Where  that  great  city-king  called  Babylon 
Reigned  for  a  thousand  years— a  spectre  walks, 
Telling  us  many  legends  of  old  times ; 
And  one  of  them  breathes  nineteenth-century  air, 
Aided  by  one  of  us,  who'll  voice  his  story. 
HARRY  (the  tall  young  man)  reads  : 


FIRST    CHAIN  9 

THE  SANDAL-MAKER  OF   BABYLON 

He  was  rather  a  picturesque  old  man,  upon  a  pettily 

complex  plan, 
With    grim    ability,  never    hid,  to    superintend    what 

others  did, 
And  state — an  effort's  race  being  run— how  things  that 

were  done  should  have  been  done. 
Naught  e'er  was  made  but  he  could  tell  how  he  could 

have  made  it  twice  as  well ; 
Naught  e'er  destroyed  but  he  would  bet  that  he  could 

have  smashed  it  finer  yet. 
And  this  erratum  of  mankind  sat,  all  day,  a  moral  and 

mental  cat, 
And  threw  the  claws  of  his   intellect  at  every  merit 

and  defect, 
And  into  the  palace  and  the  cot,  and  into  what  men 

were  and  were  not, 
And  into  the  deeds  they  struggled  through,  and  into 

the  things  they  failed  to  do, 
Using  the  most  uncalled  -  for  cares  with  other  people 

and  their  affairs, 
And  viewed,  with  a  supercilious  smile,  the  work  of  the 

world ;  and  made,  meanwhile, 
The  poorest  sandals  under  the  sun — the  sandal-maker 

of  Babylon. 

No  one  was  ever,  since  earth  began,  religious  enough 

to  please  this  man; 
No  one  to  the  gods  e'er  bowed  a  knee,  that   could 

have  done  it  so  low  as  he ; 


IO  CITY    LEGENDS 

The  tower  of   Belus    itself,  he    thought,  if  men   had 

builded  it  as  they  ought, 
Had   been   much  pleasanter  to   the  eye,  and   several 

hundred  times  as  high. 

He  knew  just  how  it  came  to  pass  that  Nebuchad 
nezzar  was  fed  with  grass; 
Could  he  have  only  had  his  way,  the  monarch's  feed 

should  have  been  of  hay. 
In  fact,  no  person,  high  or  low,  had  fault  to  conceal  or 

merit  to  show, 
But  he  could  figure  it  to  a  notch,  and  hold  it  up  for 

the  world  to  watch. 
And  yet,  withal,  his  moral  gait  was  that  of  a  deep  old 

reprobate, 
Full  of  fool-actions  shrewdly  done — the  sandal-maker 

of  Babylon. 

No  man  was  better  able  to  tell  how  dead  men  might 

be  living  and  well. 
He  knew  the  parts  of  the   human   frame,   and  every 

organ  he  called  by  name ; 
A  theory  of  his  own  had  he  that  man  wasn't  made  as 

he  ought  to  be  ; 
Could  have  creation  by  him  been  done,  the  job  would 

have  been  a  better  one : 
No  ill  to  mankind  ever  came  but  he  had  remedies  for 

the  same, 
But  never  a  word  about  them  said  until  the  suffering 

man  was  dead. 
And  yet,  in  spite  of  his  mental  wealth,  he  never  had 

any  kind  of  health  ; 


FIRST  CHAIN  II 

The  sickliest  creature  under  the  sun  was  the  sandal- 
maker  of  Babylon. 

You'd  think,  to  hear  him  talk,  that  he  invented  money 

itself.    He'd  see 

The  gone  -  by  chances  of  every  trade  —  how  every  bar 
gain  should  have  been  made ; 
He'd  tell  the  rich  why  they  were  so ;  the  poor,  why 

they  were  not ;  could  show 
How  even  the  king's  great  national  purse  might  have 

been  managed  better  or  worse ; 
Yet  had  he  one  financial  lack :  he  might  be  kicked  to 

Susa  and  back, 
And   not  a  coin   of  any  shape   from   his   habiliments 

would  escape  : 
Wealth  always  had  contrived  to  shun  the  sandal-maker 

of  Babylon. 

But  he  began,  unlucky  elf,  at  criticising  the  king  himself ; 

And  so  his  head,  as  one  might  say,  endangered  even 
itself  one  day; 

For  soon  the  king,  with  a  humorous  sense,  requested 
of  him  an  audience ; 

And  said,  "  I  have  heard  you  cannot  live  beneath  such 
government  as  I  give : 

There's  no  necessity  for  the  same,  and  no  one  but  our 
selves  to  blame. 

So,  sage  of  the  lapstone,  do  not  grieve :  I  will  give  you 
every  chance  to  leave  ; 

This  gallows  you  shall  be  hanged  upon,  O  sandal- 
maker  of  Babylon." 


12  CITY   LEGENDS 

The  engine  of  death  the  old  man  scanned,  and  mur 
mured,  in  accents  soft  and  bland, 

"  Well,  hang,  if  it  does  you  any  good ;  but  I  want  it 
expressly  understood 

That  were  this  gallows  made  by  me,  a  deadlier  weapon 
it  would  be. 

I  go  to  the  other  world ;  no  doubt  things  over  there 
need  straightening  out." 

The  monarch  laughed  and  lightly  said,  "You'd  be  a 
nuisance,  alive  or  dead. 

Go  back  to  your  stall  and  pound  away,  and  think  your 
thinkings  and  say  your  say." 

"A  foolish  plan  you  have  hit  upon,"  said  the  sandal- 
maker  of  Babylon. 

And  never  again  the  old  man  stayed  one  happy  day 
at  his  double  trade ; 

"  I  do  not  like  to  retain  my  head  by  anybody's  per 
mit,"  he  said. 

"  If  king  were  I  and  I  the  king,  I  couldn't  have  spared 
him  for  anything." 

And  slow  and  surely,  day  by  day,  he  lost  his  vigor  and 
pined  away ; 

They  found  him  lying  dead  alone  —  sad  sandal  -  maker 
of  Babylon. 

And  even  now  throughout  this  earth  (I  tell  the  story 

for  what  'tis  worth) 
They  say  his  restless  spirit  runs,  and  makes  its  home 

with  various  ones. 


FIRST   CHAIN  13 

Few  families  are  so  happy  they  have  not  a  visit  from 
him  some  day; 

Few  towns  so  blessed  with  fortune's  smile  that  he 
doesn't  live  there  for  a  while; 

He  will  find  fault  till  earth  is  done  —  crank  sandal- 
maker  of  Babylon. 

Grandfather  BELL  (a  tall,  straight,  well -aged  gentle 
man). 

Just  like  the  old  school-master,  George  X.  Jones, 
Down  at  the  Corners. 

Elder  STARR  (a  large  man  of  middle  age). 
Just  like  Old  Deacon  Growlett,  in  our  church. 

Miss  PRYDE  (a  tall,  bright-eyed  spinster). 
Just  like  old  Miss  Bakerre,  the  milliner. 

SCHOOL-MASTER  (aside}. 
Just  like  my  school  director. 

\_Aloud]  We  come  now 

(Since  contrasts  often  light  each  other  up) 
To  present  times,  and  one  who  lives  to-day ; 
Whose  nature  is  as  clear  as  summer  skies, 
And  simple  as  a  baby's ;  but  whose  nerves 
So  tremble  with  ambition,  that  he  jumps 
From  one  scrape  to  another. — We  will  have 
Read  by  Miss  Mabel's  clear  and  flute-like  voice, 

EDITH  (aside). 
Miss  Mabel's  clear  and  flute-like  voice,  indeed. 

SCHOOL-MASTER  (continuing). 
A  letter  from  our  good  and  cumbrous  friend, 
Old  Farmer  Stebbins;  telling  his  mishaps 
In  dealing  with  that  modern  city  craze. 
The  swift  toboggan  slide. 


14  CITY   LEGENDS 

MABEL  reads : 

FARMER   STEBBINS  TOBOGGANS 

ROCHESTER,  February  28 

DEAR  COUSIN  JOHN: 

I  got  here  safe,  uncommonly  alone, 

An'  walked  the  streets  in  head-up  style  quite  willin'  to 

be  known ; 
With  all  the  triumph  in  my  eyes  of  one  who  works 

an'  waits, 

An'  in  my  overcoat  a  pair  of  first-class  roller  skates; 
An',  anxious  out  of  glory's  well  a  bucketful  to  drink, 
I  never  stopped  until  I  reached  that  same  old  skating 

rink. 

For  ever  since  the  fearful  night*  I  wrote  about  be 
fore 

I've  swathed  up  safe  an'  practised  sly  upon  my  granary 
floor; 

I  tumbled  till  it  sagged  the  joists,  but  persevered  an' 
beat, 

An'  skated  like  a  critter  born  with  casters  on  its  feet ; 

An'  now  I  says,  "  These  swells  will  learn  —  what  my 
best  neighbors  know — 

That,  when  he  all  unwinds  himself,  Old  Stebbins  ain't 
so  slow." 

*  Referring  to  his  troubles  in  the  skating  rink,  detailed  in 
"City  Ballads,"  where  may  also  be  found  others  of  Farmer 
Stebbins'  adventures. 


FIRST   CHAIN  15 

But  when  I  reached  that  festive  place,  'twas  locked 
up,  I  declare, 

An'  everything  was  desolate-like,  an'  not  a  soul  was 
there ! 

While  on  the  door  a  brand-new  sign  said :  "  Stand  up 
for  the  Right! 

Salvation  Army  holds  this  fort !  Prayer-meeting  every 
night !" 

I  asked  where  all  the  skaters  was ;  a  passin'  boy  re 
plied, 

"Rink's  bu'st;  they're  all  a-takin'  in  the  new  toboggan- 
slide  !" 

"  Ah  me  !"  I  said  ;  "  the  same  old  game  !  It's  '  one 
go  all  go  sheep !' " 

Then  started  off  to  find  the  place  as  fast  as  I  could 
creep ; 

For,  though  I  criticise  my  race,  I  can't  help  but  be 
long; 

An'  soon  I  found  myself  within  the  same  old  giddy 
throng. 

But  now  they  played  at  down  an'  up,  instead  of  roun' 
an'  roun', 

An'  skated  somewhat  like  I  did  the  night  that  I  fell 
down. 

An*  some  was  dressed  in  usual  style — the  same  as  any 
one — 

An'  some  had  nightcaps,  red  an'  blue,  an'  small  bed- 
blankets  on  ; 


l6  CITY   LEGENDS 

An'  some  rode  head-first  on  their  chins,  an'  some  sat 

stiff  an'  still, 
An'  'twasn't  unlike  the  good  old  times  we  used  to  ride 

down-hill. 
(But  all  through  life  I've  noticed,  'mongst  girls,  women, 

boys,  an'  men — 
This  climbin'  up  to  some  large  height,  to  be  pushed 

down  again !) 

As  I  thus  mused,  who  should  come  up  the  easy,  stair 
cased  slopes, 

But  my  old  young  true  treacherous  friend,  Miss  Is'bel 
Sunnyhopes ! 

Who's  got  me  into  more  small  scrapes  than  any  girl 
on  earth, 

An'  always  helped  me  out  again,  with  tender-seasoned 
mirth ; 

But  everything  looked  safe-like  as  she  fluttered  to  my 
side, 

And  said,  "  My  dear  friend  ! — is  it  you  ? — do  come  and 
have  a  slide !" 

She  borrowed  from  a  smart  young  man — a  fellow  that 

she  knew — 
A  han'-sled  with  the  runners  gone  —  just  big  enough 

for  two ; 
They'd  rode  in  partnership,  it  seems ;  an'  he  gave  up 

his  place, 
With   something  that  wasn't  quite  content   upon  his 

lengthenin'  face; 


FIRST   CHAIN  17 

An'  off  we  flew,  with  speed  that  shocked  an'  made  me 
almost  blind, 

Fast  as  that  first  tobogganer  —  the  foeman  of  man 
kind. 


We  went  straight  down,  an'  clim'  back  safe;  an'  no 

mishap  had  known, 
If  I   had   heard   cold   Reason   say,  "  Let  well   enough 

alone." 
But  Isabel's  young  fellow  looked  as  sour  as  sour  could 

be, 
An'  just  as  if  he'd  like  to  make  a  mince -pie  out  of 

me ; 
An'  so  I    says,  "I'll  lengthen  still  this  young   man's 

underlip," 
And   turned  to   Isabel  an'  said,  "  Let's  take  another 

trip." 

The  second  ride  I  gave  a  glance  at  two  small  boards 

that  lay 
On  edge  to  keep  us  sliders  in  the  straight  an'  narrow 

way ; 
My  eyes  was  sort  of  misted  like,  I   lost  or  lent  my 

head, 
An'  grabbed  these  boards,  supposin'  them  a  portion  of 

the  sled ; 
I  stopped  off ;  an"  the  sleigh  went  on,  an"  left  me,  in  a 

trice, 
A-hangin'  there  with  nothin'  much  betwixt  me  an'  the 

ice. 


l8  CITY  LEGENDS 

"Hold  on!"  "Let  go!"  "Climb  up!"   "Slide  down!" 

I  heard  the  people  roar: 
I  didn't  know  which  one  not  to  do,  an'  so  I  tried  all 

four. 
I  kicked  an'  grabbed  an'  clim  an'  clawed,  an'  felt  from 

foot  to  scalp 

As  if  I  was  in  Switzerland  a-hangin'  to  an  Alp ; 
My  skates  hopped  out  an'  skittered  off  like   boys  let 

clear  of  school 
(First  time  they'd  ever  run  without  an  old  bald-headed 

fool) ! 

My  hat  an'  specs  skipped   clean    away,  as  if  they'd 

caught  the  craze, 
An'  been  a-longin'  for  this  chance  for  several  nights 

and  days ; 
Three    apples   an'   five   doughnuts,   an'    a    purchased 

bakery  bun, 
All  tried  the  new  toboggan-slide,  an'  went  down,  one 

by  one ; 
An'  as  for  me — as  some  girls  say,  in  that  "  brook  "  song 

they  sing, 
I  "  slipped  an'  slid  an'  gloomed  an*  glanced,"  an'  grabbed 

at  everything. 

An'  finally  I  twisted  round,  head-foremost  on  my  back, 
An'  went  down  like  a  lightnin'  train  that's  just  run 

off  the  track, 

An'  reached  the  bottom  of  the  hill  within  a  little  while, 
Then  rolled  an'  scooted  somethin'  like  a  quarter  of  a 

mile; 


WITH    SOBER    FACE,    BUT    EYES    UPON    THE    BROADEST 
KIND    OF   GRIN  " 


FIRST   CHAIN  19 

An'  when  I  gathered  up,  unhurt,  but  awful  unattired, 
I  felt  some  like  the  waddin'  of  a  shot-gun  lately  fired. 

Then  Isabel  came  softly  up,  with  Pity's  soothin' 
charms, 

An'  all  of  my  lost  property  scooped  in  her  han'some 
arms, 

An'  re'lly  hoped  I  wasn't  hurt — and  handed  me  a  pin — 

With  sober  face,  but  eyes  upon  the  broadest  kind  of 
grin; 

And  then  her  fellow  came,  and  made  a  show  of  help- 
in'  me; 

But  that  'ere  underlip  of  his  was  short  as  short  could 
be. 

An'  then  I  turned,  an'  said  "  Good-bye  "  to  all  the  peo 
ple  round ; 

"  My  friends,  I'm  out  of  place  again ;  on  more  than 
slippery  ground ! 

This  goin'  back  upon  their  age  is  what  no  one  should 
do; 

It's  hard  to  play  the  fine  young  man  an'  be  an  old  one 
too. 

Farewell  to  rinks  an'  slides  while  days  aroun'  me  slip 
an'  roll ! 

I'll  spend  the  spare  time  after  this  on  my  immortal 
soul." 

DAVID  (the  short,  fat  young  man). 
I'd  like  to  know  that  Is'bel  Sunnyhopes : 
I'll  bet  she's  "up  to  snuff." 


20  CITY  LEGENDS 

ISABEL  (the  black-eyed  girl,  aside,  sniffing,  half  scorn 
fully). 

Yes,  just  about. 

Mr.  ILLS  (an  obese,  elderly  gentleman}. 
This  Mr.  Stebbins,  I  should  calculate, 
Is  just  like  old  Tim^Gosport,  on  the  hill. 

Mrs.  ILLS  (aside). 
He's  just  like  you. 

SCHOOL-MASTER. 

Now  we  again  will  go 

Back  till  we  reach  the  temple-guarded  hills 
Of  ancient  Greece :  Miss  Edith  here  has  found 
A  legend  of  that  old  philosopher 
Diogenes,  which  she  will  read  to  us. 

EDITH  (aside). 
Though  not  in  Mabel's  clear  and  flute-like  voice. 

Reads  : 


DIOGENES'  DAUGHTER 

There  is  a  legend  that  Diogenes, 

Old  pachyderm,  once,  basking  in  the  sun, 
Scolding  the  lazy,  lying  at  his  ease, 

And  peddling  wisdom-loaflets  underdone, 
Saw  suddenly  a  fair-haired  maiden  pass; 

And,  his  digestion  being  good  that  day, 
He  took  a  new,  strange  fancy  to  the  lass, 

And  even  followed  her  a  little  way, 
And  asked  her  heart ;  which  she,  with  mind  obtuse, 
Gave  over  to  him,  like  a  little  goose. 


FIRST   CHAIN  21 

For  even  his  grimness  had  a  fascination ; 

And,  though  no  ladies'  man,  yet  he  could  fire 
The  average  female  heart  with  admiration, 

Being  so  unlike  what  they  should  admire. 
And  he  had  strong  brain,  and  could  "  govern  men," 

And  hence  win  women ;  and  she  had  a  pride 
To  draw  the  glum  old  bachelor  from  his  den, 

And  be  known  as  a  famous  person's  bride; 
Besides,  good  women's  hearts  will  often  move 
With  love  for  men  they  do  not  half  approve. 

Whether  she  lived,  there  is  no  need  to  ask ; 

For  he  was  soon  a  beastlier  beast  than  ever, 
And  growled  at  her  full  many  a  tasteless  task, 

Beyond  a  woman's  possible  endeavor. 
He  wanted  her  to  share  his  tub  with  him ; 

To  carry  lanterns  for  him  through  the  street, 
When,  with  dishonest  eyes  by  pride  made  dim, 

He  strove  the  unknown  Honest  Man  to  meet; 
And  to  agree,  when  that  same  man  was  found, 
To  look  the  other  way  or  on  the  ground. 

She  died,  and  he,  in  first-class  cynic  style, 

Forgot  her,  with  serene  self-contemplation, 
Frowned  at  the  world  through  his  sardonic  smile, 

And  went  on  making  rules  for  all  creation ; 
Forgot  the  sweet  girl  baby  that  his  wife 

Coaxed  out  of  heaven  and  left  on  earth  for  him; 
And  strangers  had  to  feed  her  simple  life, 

While  he  went  on,  keeping  the  world  in  trim. 


22  CITY   LEGENDS 

(He's  not  the  last  man  who,  to  wail  and  preach, 
Has  left  his  children  in  the  devil's  reach.) 

But  she  grew  good  and  pure;  and  as  a  child 

Felt  strangely  drawn  unto  the  strange  old  man 
Who  walked  the  streets  like  to  a  brute  half  wild, 

Or  sat  majestic  while  his  mean  tongue  ran ; 
But  when  she  was  eighteen  she  learned  the  truth ; 

And  walked  up  to  him  with  half-awkward  ease, 
And  with  the  blushing  bashfulness  of  youth 

Said,  "Sir,  I  am  your  daughter,  if  you  please." 
And,  his  digestion  being  good  that  day, 
He  let  the  pretty  girl  lead  him  away. 

She  took  him  to  her  home— a  fairy  bower — 

She  petted  him,  she  groomed  his  crazy  hair, 
She  ruled  him  with  her  weak  and  tender  power, 

She  soothed  out  his  belligerent  despair; 
She  brought  real  feeling  to  his  numb  old  heart, 

She  charmed  him  with  her  sweet  and  winsome  glee, 
She  gently  pried  his  mental  shell  apart, 

And  grasped  the  pearls  that  gave  him  agony ; 
While  her  friends  said,  "  Just  teach  him  common-sense, 
And  we'll  be  glad  to  stand  the  whole  expense." 

She  made  him  see  that  life  was  something  more 
Than  crouching  like  a  beast  beneath  the  sun; 

He  came  to  praise  the  dainty  robes  she  wore, 
And  have  some  care  what  he  himself  put  on; 

He  saw  that  honest  goods,  instead  of  pelf, 
Were  symbols  bright  of  industry  and  power ; 


SIR,  I   AM    YOUR   DAUGHTER,  IF   YOU   PLEASE ' 


FIRST    CHAIN  23 

That  there  was  something  else  besides  one's  self 
To  fill  the  minutes  of  life's  quick-spent  hour; 
She  made  the  sage  less  picturesque  and  keen, 
But  several  times  as  happy  and  as  clean. 

And  he  was  coming  very  fast  to  be 

A  loving  father — full  of  thrift's  strong  charm ; 
Till  one  sad  morn,  his  daughter,  full  of  glee, 

Came  to  him  with  a  young  man  arm-in-arm, 
And  cheeks  that  blushed  like  pearl-white  clouds  ca 
ressing 

The  warm,  magnetic,  love-charged  sun  above, 
And  said,  "  O  father !  give  your  god-strown  blessing 

On  him  and  me  !  for,  father,  I'm  in  love!" 
While  the  young  man,  half  earnest,  half  ashamed, 
Knelt  with  her  for  the  blessing  that  she  claimed. 

Diogenes  was  slightly  thunderstruck ; 

And,  his  digestion  being  bad  that  day, 
He  rose  and  howled,  "  Hot  curses  on  the  luck ! 

This  selfish  world  runs  all  the  self-same  way ! 
You  said  you  loved  me,  and  I  did  not  doubt ; 

Instead  of  which  you  take  this  homely  chub, 
Admit  him  to  your  heart,  and  turn  me  out : 

Oh,  never  mind!  I'll  move  back  to  the  tub! 
Give  me  my  lantern  !  let  me  go !  I  vow 
I'll  search  the  world  for  honest  women,  now !" 

She  twined  her  soft  arms  round  his  stubborn  feet, 
She    prayed    him    with    her    hands,   her    eyes,   her 
lips; 


24  CITY    LEGENDS 

Strove  the  dear,  dreadful  exigence  to  meet, 
And  show  him  that  'twas  not  a  love-eclipse ; 

She  said,  "  O  father,  know  that  you  are  still 
All  the  world  to  me !  but  I  have  discovered 

Another  world :  I  have  two  hearts  to  fill ; 

But  I  adore  you  more !"  and  then  she  hovered 

Deftly  between  the  young  man  and  the  old, 

Who  formed  a  contrast  striking  to  behold. 

"  Befriend  me,  O  my  father,  for  I  need 

Much  more  now  your  protection !     I  am  just 
A  poor,  weak  girl,  whose  only  strength,  indeed, 

Is  all  with  others — is  her  love  and  trust. 
I  cannot  live  without  you;  this  sweet  man 

Has  won  my  heart,  but  not  away  from  yours ; 
He  crowds  me  nearer  to  you ;  'tis  the  plan 

The  gods  have  made ;  'tis  why  the  race  endures. 
The  passion-waves  that  through  me  surge  and  dart 
Sink  deeper  still  your  love  into  my  heart. 

"  My  love  has  not  division,  but  increase ; 

O  father,  listen  to  me !  do  not  move 
Your  cherished  face  away ;  my  life  must  cease, 

In  this  new  life  of  love,  without  your  love. 
For  my  sweet  mother's  sake — whose  heart  stood  still 

In  its  first  glow  of  greeting  for  me — listen ! 
Your  form  my  woman's  fancy  yet  shall  fill ; 

Your  dear  eyes  in  my  heart's  eyes  e'er  shall  glisten; 
And  all  I  ask,  father  whom  I  adore, 
Is  only  just  one  husband,  and  no  more !" 


FIRST    CHAIN  2$ 

And  here  the  legend  stops ;   I  cannot  prove 

How  it  turned  out ;  but  if  I  judge  aright, 
The  mean  old  idiot  trampled  on  her  love 

With  the  iron  shoes  of  jealousy  and  spite. 
At  least  I  learn  that  he  was  every  bit 

A  cynic,  at  near  eighty,  when  his  dim 
Old  soul  left  earth,  which,  though  he  hated  it, 

He  lived  in  longer  than  it  wanted  him. 
Like  some  to-day,  he  gave  this  world  a  curse, 
Because  he  could  not  have  the  universe. 

Grandmother  SMITH  (a  sweet  but  hard-headed  old  lady). 
A  mean,  old,  selfish,  undeserving  brute. 

Old  Mr,  ADAMS  (EDITH'S  father). 
Tis  very  strange  that  any  man  should  step 
With  his  own  selfish  fancy,  pride,  or  spleen, 
Betwixt  his  daughter  and  her  happiness. 

SCHOOL-MASTER  (aside,  glancing  at  Mr.  ADAMS  and 

EDITH). 

Curious,  indeed.     These  legends  will  not  hit 
The  targets  they  are  aimed  at.     Oh,  the  coats — 
The  neatly  fitted  coats,  that  hang  upon 
The  hall-racks  of  man's  nature,  waiting  long — 
Waiting  in  vain — for  him  to  put  them  on ! 

[Aloud] 

Now,  with  renewed  attention,  let  us  hear 
Another  of  old  Farmer  Stebbins'  wails, 
Uttered  last  summer,  when  that  modern  craze, 
Baseball,  was  driving  all  the  nation  wild. 

HARRY  (the  tall  young  man). 
Baseball! — the  king  of  all  our  manly  sports!  * 


26  CITY    LEGENDS 

ISABEL  (the  black-eyed  girl). 
Baseball !  another  man-made  tournament, 
Where  woman  views  the  skill  and  strength  of  man. 

Squire  STOUT. 
Baseball ! — a  mighty  killin'  waste  o'  time. 

Grandmother  SMITH  (the  sweet  but  hard-  headed  old 

lady). 

Baseball !  the  bosom  friend  of  heart-disease 
And  enemy  of  whole  and  shapely  hands. 

HARRY  (hastily  concealing  a  damaged  knuckle). 
Who  reads  the  Stebbins  letter? 

SCHOOL-MASTER. 

David,  here. 
DAVID  (the  short,  fat  young  man}. 


FARMER  STEBBINS  AT  THE   BAT 

BROOKLYN,  July  5 

DEAR  BROTHER  JOHN  : 

We  got  here  safe,  my  good  old  wife  an'  me, 

An'  then  I  strolled  out  to  the   Park,  to   see  what  I 

could  see. 
Some  fellows  there  was  playin'  ball — an'  with  a  waggish 

smile 
One  chap  inquired  of  me  if  /  wouldn't  like  to  play  a 

while ; 
For  I'd  made  some  remarks  about  the  way  the  game 

was  run, 
An'  maybe  I'd  take  hold,  he  said,  an'  show  'em   how 

'twas  done. 


FIRST    CHAIN  VJ 

I  used  to  play,  some  years  ago,  when  youth  still  lin 
gered  near, 

Before  three  hundred  pounds  of  meat  impaired  my 
runnin'  gear ; 

An'  so  I  said,  "All  right,  I'm  in  ;  I'll  give  the  ball  a 
whack, 

For  I  don't  like  to  have  old  age  invite  me  to  stan' 
back  " ; 

An'  then  I  spoke  up  to'm  an'  said,  with  quite  a  limber 
tongue, 

"I'll  show  you  how  we  used  to  play  when  your  old 
dads  was  young." 

"  Of  course  you'll  stan'  up  to  the  rules  ?"  the  waggish 

chap  inquired ; 
"An"  will  you  pitch  or  catch?"    Says  I,  "I'll  catch,  if 

so  desired." 
An'  then  they  brought  a  muzzle  out  an'  strapped  it  to 

my  head, 
To  keep  my  mug  from  gettin'  scraped  by  some  one's 

bat,  they  said. 
But  I  didn't  mind ;  I  says,  "  All  right ;  just  trim  me  up 

complete, 
Providin'  you  don't  tie  no  wires  aroun'  my  hands  nor 

feet." 

But  when  I  caught  their  pesky  ball,  I  yelled  out  with 

a  groan, 
"  Good  sakes  alive !  I  didn't  suppose  you  played  it  with 

a  stone!" 


28  CITY    LEGENDS 

Then  they  all  laughed,  and  says,  "  Of  course  this  ain't 

no  one-old-cat !" 
An'  laughed  again  when  I  remarked,  "  I'm  sensible  of 

that; 
But  when  ive  used  to  play  baseball  we  wouldn't  have 

thought  'twas  smart 
To  pelt  each  other  with  a  chunk  of  old  King  Pharaoh's 

heart !" 

Then  they  all  laughed  again,  an'  said  I'd  better  take 
the  field ; 

An'  I  remarked,  "  I'm  used  to  that "  (a  fact  quite  un 
concealed)  ; 

An'  so  I  toddled  off,  an'  stood,  without  a  word  to  say, 

Until  "  a  hot  ball,"  as  they  said,  came  boilin'  down  my 
way ; 

It  landed  somewhere  on  my  frame,  uncommon  hard 
an'  square, 

An'  I  laid  down,  reached  up  my  han's,  an'  wildly  clasped 
it  there. 

An'  then  they  laughed  an'  cheered,  an'  said  I'd  "caught 

it  on  the  fly." 

"  I  caught  it  on  my  stomach,  if  I'm  any  judge,"  says  I. 
An*   then  they  laughed  an'  cheered  some   more,  an' 

said,  "  Our  side  is  in, 

An'  it  is  our  turn  at  the  bat,  an'  your  turn  to  begin." 
An'  then  I  grasped  the  ball  -  club  tight,  an'  says  unto 

them  all, 
"  I'll  show  you  how  to  treat  a  hard  an'  unregenerate 

ball." 


FIRST   CHAIN  29 

The  fellow  that  propelled  the  thing  wouldn't  throw  it 
square  an'  straight ; 

He'd  give  a  sort  of  cow -like  kick,  an'  pitch  it  like  a 
quoit ; 

So  when  I  struck,  with  my  whole  firm  of  muscle,  brain, 
an'  heart, 

The  fierce  blow  found  the  ball  an'  club  some  several 
foot  apart ; 

An'  leanin'  up,  an'  strikin'  'gainst  the  atmosphere  in 
stead, 

Produced  an  unforeseen  result,  an'  stood  me  on  my 
head. 

"  Strike  one  !"  the  fellow  that  they  call  the  "  emperor  " 
loudly  cried. 

"It's  full  as  much  as  that,"  I  says,  a-perchin'  on  my 
side. 

"  Play  ball !"  he  shouted.  An'  I  says,  "  It  ain't  so  much 
like  play 

As  some  things  I  have  seen ;  but  then,  no  matter ;  fire 
away !" 

An'  so  he  fired;  whereat  the  ball  benumbed  each  fin- 
ger's-end, 

Then  cuffed  my  sufferin'  ears,  like  some  enraged  ma 
ternal  friend. 

"  Foul !"  shouted  loud  the  emperor,  then,  in   accents 

loud  an'  high. 
"  You're  right  again ;  it's  foul  indeed,  an'  painful  too," 

says  I : 


30  CITY    LEGENDS 

An'  then  I  thought,  "  I'll  wipe  that  ball  half-way  out 
of  existence, 

Or  lay  right  down  here  an'  expire,  with  mourners  at  a 
distance." 

An'  straightenin'  back,  I  gave  the  thing  a  self-benumb- 
in'  blow, 

An'  sent  it  wobblin'  through  the  air;  an'  then  they 
shouted,  "Go!" 

Now  I  was  kind  of  turned  around  'bout  where  I  might 
belong, 

An'  nimble  as  an  elephant,  I  struck  my  bearin's 
wrong ; 

I  stood  the  emperor  on  his  head,  I  run  the  catcher 
down, 

I  barked  my  waggish  friend's  left  shin,  before  he  turned 
me  roun' ; 

An'  then  he  yelled,  "  Pick  up  your  heels !"  an'  fool- 
bewildered  quite, 

I  stopped  an'  looked,  an'  said,  "  They're  here !  I've 
got  'em  on  all  right !" 

An'  then  they  laughed  an'  cheered  some  more,  an'  said, 
"Go!  make  your  base!" 

An'  off  I  went,  with  quickened  breath,  an'  heat  -  illu 
mined  face; 

I  gave  no  heed  unto  the  world  ;  but,  thunderin'  straight 
ahead, 

Produced  an  earthquake  in  that  Park  by  my  resistless 
tread ; 


FIRST    CHAIN  31 

An'  then  I  stubbed  my  off  big  toe,  an'  hadn't  time  to 

rise, 
An'  rolled  three-quarters  of  the  way,  to  my  base,  and 

surprise. 

"Out  on  a  fly!"  the  emperor  says,  a-brushin'  off  his 

sleeve. 
"  Out  on  a  bender,  I  should  think,"  I  says,  prepared  to 

leave ; 
"This  game  has  too  much  earnestness  to  make  it  play 

for  me ; 

It's  full  of  hardship  for  to  do,  however  nice  to  see. 
The  easiest  way  to  play  baseball,  is  just  to  sit  an'  tell 
How  things  you  never  could  have  done  could  be  done 

twice  as  well." 

Then  Sister  Is'bel  Sunnyhopes,  to  my  intense  surprise, 
Drove  up  an'  took  me  in,  with  tears  an'  laughter  in  her 

eyes : 

"  Miss  Isabel,"  I  humbly  said,  "  it  always  seems  to  me, 
The  bigger  fool  I  make  myself,  the  more  you're  there 

to  see. 

I'll  furnish  you  with  candy  all  the  rest  your  nat'ral  life, 
If  you  won't  pick  this  picnic  up,  an'  take  it   to  my 

wife." 

SCHOOL-MASTER. 

I  trust  henceforth  our  good  but  green  old  friend 
May  stay  where  balls  will  miss  him.    But  one  tale 
Reminds  us  of  another  (although  how, 
I  cannot  quite  explain ;  we  do  not  see 


32  CITY   LEGENDS 

All  of  the  gold  or  leaden  links  that  bind 
Our  many  thoughts  together). 

I  will  read 

A  legend  of  old  Sicily's  Syracuse. 
Reads  : 

DIONYSIUS'   MIRROR 

Old  King  Dionysius,  insanely  ambitious, 

Who  stabled  his  prisoners  en  masse, 
And  (their  sufferings  to  hear)  built  a  great  prison-ear 

Thus  embalming  himself  as  an  ass  ; 
Contentless  with  hearing  the  words  which,  unfearing, 

His  sufferers  treated  him  to, 
And  which,  unrestrained,  very  likely  contained 

More  truth  than  he  cared  to  pull  through; 

Called  up  a  magician,  of  high-born  position, 

And  said,  with  a  cold,  cruel  grin, 
"  Now  build  me  a  mirror,  much  stronger  and  clearer 

Than  any  that  ever  has  been. 
Of  methods  make  use,  that  will  quick  reproduce 

Every  scene  that  its  surface  may  hold ; 
The  forms  and  the  features  of  all  of  these  creatures 

And  all  they  have  done,  shall  be  told." 

This  high-born  magician,  with  skilful  ambition 

(The  world  had  its  arts  in  those  days, 
And  "magic"  is  science  concealed  in  appliance), 

Proceeded  the  mirror  to  raise. 


FIRST   CHAIN  33 

'Twas  silver  well  burnished ;  and  silently  furnished 

The  pictures  that  came  to  its  eyes ; 
And  the  place  in  a  minute,  to  those  who  were  in  it, 

Seemed  wondrously  doubled  in  size. 

Its    woes,  too,  were    doubled ;    and    they   who    were 

troubled 

With  sickness  and  hunger  and  pain, 
Felt  needlessly  shocked,  and  their  sufferings  mocked 

By  a  levity  brutal  and  vain. 
Such    infamous    "  mercies,"  they   thanked   with    their 

curses ; 

Such  "  luxuries  "  wakened  their  ire ; 
Of  the  gods  they  implored  that  the  king  might  be 

stored 
In  a  mirror-walled  prison  of  fire. 

Slow  or  fleetly,  at  last,  but  a  year  had  gone  past, 

When  a  general  order  there  came, 
That  this  wonderful  mirror — this  optical  sneerer— 

Be  moved  from  its  rock-girded  frame. 
The  tablet  of  malice  was  borne  to  the  palace, 

And  met  by  the  tyrant's  best  sneer, 
Who  said  to  his  court,  "  We  will  see,  for  our  sport, 

What  the  rascals  have  done  for  a  year." 

Then  the  noted  magician,  with  skill  and  precision 
(For  science  was  known  in  those  days, 

And  arts  have  been  lost,  as  we  know  to  our  cost), 
Uncovered  the  view  to  their  gaze. 

3 


34  CITY    LEGENDS 

But  a  sight  of  such  woe  as  may  few  ever  know, 

Came  forth  on  the  silvery  sheen ; 
Such  terror-strewn  languor,  such  pain-sharpened  anger, 

Had  ne'er  in  a  palace  been  seen! 

No  look  of  despair  but  displayed  itself  there; 

No  sorrow  but  stepped  out  to  view ; 
No  terrible  death  but  here  drew  its  last  breath ; 

No  horror  was  ever  more  true. 

But    each   pain-harrowed   face   bent   its    look    to    one 
place ; 

All  curses  one  way  seemed  to  turn ; 
And    the  guests,  past    surprise,  raised   their   horrified 
eyes, 

The  cause  of  such  hate  to  discern. 

Not  yet. — Twas  not  seen.     But  the  silvery  sheen 

Showed  pictures  more  terribly  new ; 
Fierce  serpents  untwined  from  the  heart  and  the  mind 

Of  the  wretches  that  crowded  in  view ; 
Black  demons  of  hate  crept  like  creatures  of  fate 

With  tongues  that  were  forked  and  red ; 
All  crept   to   one   place ;    and   the   guests   sought  to 
trace 

Where  'twas  that  the  reptiles  had  fled. 

Not  yet. — 'Twas  not  seen.     But  there  came,  sharp  and 
keen, 

From  above,  blinding  lightnings  of  wrath ; 
They  swept  down  below,  as  to  see  the  dread  woe, 

Then  flashed  on  the  same  upward  path. 


FIRST  CHAIN  35 

"  May  the  gods  turn  the  luck  of  whomever  that  struck !" 
Said  the  guests,  nearly  frenzied  with  fear, 

As  they  gazed,  full  of  dread,  at  the  mystery  o'erhead, 
To  witness  the  victim  appear. 

Not  yet. — From  beneath — living  blades  of  the  sheath 

Of  Hades,  thick  padded  with  flame — 
Rose  devils  of  fire,  half  in  sport,  half  in  ire, 

And  scowled  at  some  object  of  shame. 
They  motioned  to  him,  with  ape-grimaces  grim, 

And  meaningly  pointed  below, 
As  to  say,  "  'Twill  not  be  very  long,  ere  you  see 

What  our  grim  hospitalities  show." 

"  Raise  the   screen !  raise  the  screen,  and  display  the 

whole  scene !" 

Said  the  tyrant,  with  half-trembling  glee: 
"  Let   us  view  that    unknown,  with    such   hot   curses 

strown ; 

Worst  prisoner  of  all  he  must  be !" 
The  magician,  fear-pale,  slowly  drew  back  the  veil, 

And  there,  'mid  his  palace's  pelf, 
With  his   ear  to   The  Ear,  and  his  face  white  with 

fear, 
Was  old  Dionysius  himself ! 

"  Break   the   sorcerous   liar !     Melt   it    up  with  white 
fire !" 

Yelled  the  tyrant,  in  frenzied  dismay. 
It  was  done ;  but  still  there,  on  the  walls  of  the  air, 

Came  the  picture,  by  night  and  by  day. 


36  CITY   LEGENDS 

And  no  doubt  when  he  stood  'mid  the  bad  and  the 
good, 

His  lot  for  the  future  to  draw, 
In  the  record  of  shame  that  was  marked  with  his  name, 

That  scene  of  the  mirror  he  saw. 

Squire  STOUT. 
By  George  !  that  never  happened  in  this  world. 

Grandmother  SMITH. 
I  think  it  is  a  sort  of  parable. 

SCHOOL-MASTER. 

Our  deeds — our  thoughts — our  feelings — all  are  cast 
In  mirror-pictures,  that  shall  never  fade. 
Oft  by  Fate's  touch — oft'ner  by  our  own  acts — 
The  veil  will  rise,  and  show  us  what  we  are — 
What  we  have  been — what  we  through  self  must  be. 
And  oft  in  pictures  where  we  think  to  view 
Others  well  sketched,  is  our  own  image  seen ! 

Squire  STOUT  (aside). 

We  do  not  pay  the  teacher,  I'll  be  bound, 
To  loaf  about  and  spout  such  stuff  as  this. 

Grandmother  SMITH. 
Forgive  me  if  I  think  the  legends  told 
Thus  far  have  been  somewhat  unanimous 
Against  old  men — whom,  as  a  rule,  I  like 
(Perhaps  because  I  liked  them  while  still  young). 
But  will  you  hear  a  legend  now,  of  one 
Who  lived  within  the  suburbs  of  a  small 
Old  inland  city  that  I  used  to  know, 
And  who,  I  think,  will  preach  that  some  old  men 
Are  kindly,  generous,  true,  and  sensible  ? 


FIRST   CHAIN  37 

Reads  : 

UNCLE  NATE'S  FUNERAL 

'Twas  not  at  all  like  those  you  see  of  ordinary  men ; 
'Twas  such  as  never  could  occur,  excepting  now  and 

then. 

For  Uncle  Nate  had  studied  hard  upon  it,  night  and  day, 
And  planned  it  all— while  yet  alive — in  his  peculiar  way. 
"  I've  managed  other  men's  remains,"  he  said,  in  quiet 

tone, 
"And  now  I'll  make  a  first-class  try  to  regulate  my 

own." 
And  so,  a  month  before  his  death,  he  wrote  the  details 

down, 
For    friends  to    print,  when   he  was   dead,  and   mail 

throughout  the  town. 

The  paper  said :  "  I've  figured  close,  and  done  the  best 

I  knew, 
To  have  a  good  large  funeral,  when  this  shortish  life 

was  through ; 
I've  thought  about  it  night  and  day,  I've  brooded  o'er 

the  same, 

Until  it  almost  seemed  a  task  to  wait  until  it  came. 
Especially  as  my  good  wife  has  wandered  on  ahead, 
And  all  the  children  we  possessed  have  many  years 

been  dead ; 
And  now  I'll  tell  you  what  I  want  my  friends  and  foes 

to  do — 
I'm  sorry  that   I   can't  be  here  to   push  the  matter 

through : 


38  CITY    LEGENDS 


ar°und  il 
I'm  jjoeh,    ike,  and   am    not  used    to   riding   round 

Brindimb,°ld  Wag°n>  in'°  Wl"Ch  ^  ChMren  used  <° 
Until  I've  taken  on  a  drive  full  twenty  at  a  time- 

™ 


far  and  ™'  and 

^I  would  ,ike  to  have  them  eome,  upon  my  burial 
WUh  me'  a"d  talk  •»  «"=.  "d  sing  along  the 


"I  wantmy  Wend  the  minister-the  best  of  preacher- 


°  but  sVon™ 


-. 
n°tw'thstandta«  all  his  eloquence 

fo 
1       '" 


presse  ^  Bible 

'  He  did  his 


"AND   THEY   HAVE    SCAMPERED   FAR   AND   NEAR" 


FIRST    CHAIN  39 

"  And  any  one  I've  given  help — to  comfort  or  to  save — 

Just  bring  a  flower,  or  sprig  of  green,  and  throw  it  in 
the  grave. 

Please  have  a  pleasant,  social  time  round  the  sub 
scriber's  bier, 

And  uo  one  but  my  enemies  must  shed  a  single  tear. 

You  simply  say,  '  Old  Uncle  Nate,  whatever  may  befall, 

Is  having  probably  to-day  the  best  time  of  us  all ! 

He's  shaking  hands,  two  at  a  clip,  with  several  hun 
dred  friends, 

And  giving  us  who  stay  behind  good  gilt-edged  rec 
ommends  !'  " 

They  tried  to  follow  all  the  rules  that  Uncle  Nate  laid 

down : 
When  he  was  dead  they  came  to  him  from  every  house 

in  town. 
The  children  did  their  best  to  sing,  but  could  not  quite 

be  heard ; 

The  parson  had  a  sermon  there,  but  did  not  speak  a  word. 
Of  course  they  buried  him  in  flowers,  and  kissed  him 

as  he  lay, 
For   not  a  soul  in  all  that  town  but  he   had   helped 

some  way ; 
But  when  they  tried  to  mould  his  mound  without  the 

tear-drop's  leaven, 
There  rose  loud  sobs  that  Uncle   Nate  could  almost 

hear  in  heaven. 

[Clock  strikes  twelve.     Company  rise  and  disperse 
in  silence,  for  they  all  knew  Uncle  Nate. 


SECOND  CHAIN 


Second  Cbatn 

SCENE,  the  front  parlor  of  a  city  residence.  It  is  prettily  and 
daintily  furnished.  Bows  of  ribbon  adorn  almost  everything, 
excepting  a  young  gentleman  -who  has  called.  Conspicuous 
among  the  pictures  on  the  walls  are  those  of  a  nice  old  lady 
and  gentleman,  -who  look  as  if  they  might  be  the  grandfather 
and  grandmother  of  some  young  lady.  Enter  a  young  lady, 
seats  herself  at  friendly  but  respectful  distance  from  the 
young  gentleman,  and  gazes  at  him  doubtingly. 

ETHEL  (the  young  lady). 
You  say  you  love  me ;  but  how  do  I  know 

That  all  of  the  scattered  words  you  send 
Bring  truth  with  them  ?  the  tongue  may  glow 

With  thoughts  that  leap  from  a  friend  to  a  friend, 
Or  fly  with  Fancy's  mottled  wing ; 
But  Love,  dear  friend,  is  a  sacred  thing. 
Love  is  not  tinsel,  silver,  or  gold  : 

It  is  a  fragment  of  Heaven's  own  gate, 

Broken  in  halves  by  God's  hand,  Fate, 
And  given  two  kindred  spirits  bold, 

Who  would  colonize  in  our  Earth  unknown : 

Tis  whispered  them,  "You  may  be  thrown 


44  CITY    LEGENDS 

Far  apart;  be  passion-whirled 
To  different  sides  of  that  dizzy  world ; 
But  search  for  each  other,  far  and  near, 
With  a  painful  hope  and  a  joyful  fear. 
Search,  through  fair  or  stormy  weather, 

Until  the  halves  of  this  broken  gem 
Cling  and  clasp  and  weld  together, 

With  the  power  that  attracted  them. 
Then  shall  be  bartered  Love's  true  token ; 
Then  shall  The  Heart's  Password  be  spoken." 
Dearest  of  comrades,  how  can  I  know 

That  yours  is  the  soul  that  is  seeking  mine, 
Until  the  gems  to  each  other  glow — 

Until  you  speak  the  words  divine? 

{The  portrait  of  the  young  lady  s  grandmother 
upon  the  wall  seems  to  smile  approvingly  at 
this  speech  ;  that  of  her  grandfather  has  a 
somewhat  puzzled  look. 

FlTZ  CLINTONNE  (the  young  man,  bashfully,  and  some 
what  awkwardly). 
Yes,  you  are  right :  my  tongue  is  dull — 

Words  step  slowly,  and  far  apart ; 
Fogs  float  my  small  intellect  full — 

Creeping  between  the  head  and  heart. 
Something  thrusts  from  me,  ever  yet, 

Things  that  I  do  not  want  to  say ; 
Something  makes  my  tongue  forget 

Gems  I  remember,  when  away. 
Several  times  I  have  had  The  Speech 
Close  to  my  blind  tongue's  groping  reach ; 


SECOND   CHAIN  45 

Several  times  my  foremost  word 

Stumbled  against  some  small  event, 
Mean,  and  pitiful,  and  absurd, 

As  if  by  a  mischief-bureau  sent. 

[  The  portrait  of  the  young  lady  s  grandmother 
on  the  wall  seems  to  smile  approvingly,  with 
a  half-  triumphant  expression  ;  that  of  the 
grandfather  appears  to  put  on  a  sympathiz 
ing  look. 

FITZ  CLINTONNE  (continuing). 
That  time  in  the  shady,  flower-breathed  grove, 

Your  hand  on  my  arm,  we  slowly  walked, 
My  tongue  of  a  sudden  fell  in  love — 

Cupid  himself ! — how  I  could  have  talked  ! 
But  ere  the  oration  was  half  begun 

A  cow  broke  through  the  confounded  fences — 
Charged  on  us  with  a  swinging  run — 

ETHEL. 

Scared  me  half-way  out  of  my  senses — 

FITZ  CLINTONNE. 

And  so  the  words  my  soul  would  say 
Were  drowned  in  a  loud,  inglorious  "  Whey !" 
My  word-supply-car  jumped  the  track, 
In  shunting  that  wretched  milk-train  back. 
One  time  we  floated  the  marching  lake 

They  call  a  river — the  key  was  mine ! 
The  billows  of  speech  began  to  break — 

They  soon  would  have  brought  The  Word  divine  1 
But  an  envious  fish  crept  round  our  way — 
The  only  one  that  we  caught  that  day — 


4-6  CITY   LEGENDS 

And  nabbed  your  hook — and  my  oration, 

Ere  it  was  half  begun,  was  o'er. 

ETHEL  (animatedly). 
One  of  the  beauties  of  creation ! 

Weighed  ten  pounds  and  a  half,  or  more ! 

FITZ  CLINTONNE. 

The  fish,  I  suppose  you  mean.     One  eve, 
Just  as  the  twilight  prepared  to  leave, 
We  sat  and  looked  at  a  silver  paring 

Called  the  new  moon — near  a  diamond-star 
Which  the  sweet  blue-eyed  sky  was  wearing. 

Words  rushed  straight  to  me,  from  afar ; 
Stopped  at  my  heart,  then  sought  the  tongue ; 
Never  such  words  were  said  or  sung ! 
But  o'er  our  veranda,  just  in  time 
To  wed  the  ridiculous  and  sublime, 
Crept  a  small  mouse — bright-eyed  and  fleet — 

ETHEL. 
And  I  screamed  like  a  pantheress,  and  jumped  six  feet ! 

[  The  face  of  the  grandfather  on  the  wall  actu 
ally  seems  to  grin  ;  that  of  the  grandmother 
lengthens  in  pictorial  sympathetic  fright, 
and  her  arms  appear  to  stretch  suddenly 
towards  the  lower  folds  of  her  dress. 

FITZ  CLINTONNE  (aside}. 
If  I  would  not  be  left  out  of  sight, 

An  answer  to-day  I  must  insist  on; 
For  Fitz  Cumlippitt  is  coming  to-night, 

And  he  has  a  tongue  like  an  engine-piston. 


SECOND   CHAIN 

He  will  say  so  many  soft  words  to  'er, 

The  Password  will  be  amongst  them,  sure ; 

At  least,  she  will  think  it  is—    O  shade 

Of  every  talker  that  e'er  was  made, 

Of  gossips,  and  lawyers,  and  auctioneers, 

Of  orators,  poets,  and  talking  seers, 

Lend  me  your  tongues — or  my  murderers  be ; 

For  I  shall  die  if  she  doesn't  wed  me ! 

[Aloud] 

Ethel,  I  love  you.     Let  it  suffice 
My  words  are  earnest,  if  not  o'er-nice. 
'Mid  all  this  centuiy's  arts  and  shams, 
My  love  is  as  firm  as 

HUCKSTER  (in  the  street}. 

Soft- shell  c-1-a-m-s! 

FITZ  CLINTONNE  (recovering). 
Fie  on  the  villain  !     Ethel,  my  heart 
Is  yours  forever;  we  must  not  part. 
Often  my  soul,  in  some  lonely  spot, 
Reaches  for  yours,  and  finds  it  not ; 
And  breaks  into  still,  tumultuous  sobs — 
Longing — longing — for — 

HUCKSTER  (in  the  street). 

Crabs  an'  1-o-b-s — 
L-o-b-s-t-e-r-s ! 

FITZ  CLINTONNE  (indignantly). 

Fie  on  the  sordid  wretch, 

Collapsing  my  speech,  with  his  mouth  astretch ! 
Ethel,  I  need,  for  my  heart's  repose — 

VOICE  (in  the  street). 
Cash  fur  ol'  clo's— ol'  clo's,  ol'  c-1-o-o-s— 


47 


48  CITY   LEGENDS 

FITZ  CLINTONNE  (tenderly). 
If  you  will  be  my  life-heart-friend, 
You  shall  have  always 

VOICE  (in  the  street). 

B-o-i-l-e-r-s  to  mend ! 

FITZ  CLINTONNE  (resolutely). 
You  shall  have  always  love  and  rest, 

Soothing  you  through  life's  varied  scenes; 
Safe  in  our  cosey,  bright  home-nest, 

We  will  e'er  live  on 

Female  HUCKSTER  (in  street,  shrilly,  and  in  a  tone  of 
interrogation}. 

Fresh — fresh  g-r-e-e-n-s  ! 

FITZ  CLINTONNE  (despairingly}. 
Ever  'tis  thus.     You  see  I  may 

As  well  talk  Greek,  or  Zulu,  or  Hindoo; 
Chaos  intrudes,  whatever  I  say. 

I  will  close  my  speech. 

ETHEL  (smiling).  Or,  perhaps,  the  window. 

FITZ  CLINTONNE  (after  obeying  with  alacrity). 
Ethel,  I  love  you.     My  love  is  pure 
And  fresh  from  the  soul,  and  must  endure. 
Its  fountains  shall  never  cease  to  flow ! 

ETHEL  (positively). 
Oh,  but  men's  love  is  never  so ! 

FITZ  CLINTONNE  (solemnly). 
Ethel,  have  you  one  case  in  view, 
Where  man  to  woman  has  proved  untrue  ? 

ETHEL  (readily). 

Thousands  and  thousands  and  thousands !  no  man 
Has  walked  the  world  since  the  world  began, 


SECOND    CHAIN  49 

As  true  to  the  woman  who  loved  him  truly 
As  she  to  him. 
FITZ  CLINTONNE. 

You  speak  unduly. 

But  list  while  I  tell  you,  second-hand, 
What  a  young  man  in  Austria-land 
Stood  for  the  girl  he  loved.     Tis  fit 
To  say  that  he  stood,  as  you'll  admit. 

[Draws  a  magazine  from  his  pocket  and  pre 
pares  to  read.  The  young  lady  arranges  a 
series  of  furtive  yawns;  the  faces  on  the 
wall  assume  a  look  of  stoical  endurance. 

FITZ  CLINTONNE  reads  : 

THE  HERO  OF  THE  TOWER 

Long  time  ago,  when  Austria  was  young, 
There  came  a  herald  to  Vienna's  gates, 
Bidding  the  city  fling  them  open  wide 
Upon  a  certain  day;  for  then  the  king 
Would  enter,  with  his  shining  retinue. 

Forthwith  the  busy  streets  were  pleasure -paths; 
And  that  which  seemed  but  now  a  field  of  toil, 
With  weeds  of  turbulence  and  tricky  greed, 
Flashed  into  gardens  blooming  full  of  flowers. 
Beauty  blushed  deeper,  now  the  rising  sun 
Of  royalty  upon  it  was  to  shine ; 
Wealth  cast  its  nets  of  tinsel  and  of  gold 

4 


$0  CITY   LEGENDS 

To  catch  the  kingly  eye ;  and  wisdom  merged 

Itself  into  the  terms  of  an  address, 

Which  the  old  mayor  sat  up  nights  to  learn. 

No  maiden  fluttered  through  the  narrow  streets 

That  pondered  not  what  ribbons  she  should  wear; 

No  window  on  the  long  procession's  route 

But  had  its  tenants  long  engaged  ahead. 

But  the  old  sexton  of  St.  Joseph's  Church 

Moped  dull  and  sulky  through  the  smiling  crowd ; 

A  blot  upon  the  city's  pleasure-page. 

"  What  runs  wrong  with  you,  uncle  ?"  was  the  cry ; 

"  You,  who  have  been  the  very  youngest  boy 

Of  all  the  old  men  that  the  city  had ; 

Who  loved  processions  more  than  perquisites, 

And  rolled  a  gala-day  beneath  your  tongue: 

What  rheumatism  has  turned  that  temper  lame  ? 

Speak  up,  and  make  your  inward  burden  ours." 

The  old  man  slowly  walked  until  he  came 
Unto  the  market-place ;  then  feebly  stopped, 
As  if  to  talk ;  and  a  crowd  gathered  soon, 
As  men  will,  when  a  man  has  things  to  say. 
And  thus  he  spoke :  "  For  fifty  years  and  more 
I  have  been  sexton  of  St.  Joseph's  Church ; 
St.  Joseph's  would  have  fared  ill  but  for  me. 
And  though  my  friend  the  priest  may  smile  at  this, 
And  wink  at  you  an  unbelieving  eye, 
My  office  shines  in  heaven  as  well  as  his. 
Although  it  was  not  mine  to  make  the  church 
Godly,  I  kept  it  clean ;  and  that  stands  next. 


SECOND    CHAIN  51 

If  I  have  broke  one  circle  of  my  sphere, 

Let  some  one  with  straight  finger  trace  it  out. 

"  And  no  procession,  in  these  fifty  years, 

Has  marched  the  streets  with  aught  like  kingly  tread, 

But  on  the  summit  of  St.  Joseph's  spire 

I  stood  erect  and  waved  a  welcome-flag, 

With  scanty  resting-place  beneath  my  feet, 

And  the  wild  breezes  clutching  at  my  beard. 

It  took  some  nerve  to  stand  so  near  to  heaven 

And  fling  abroad  its  colors.     Try  it,  priest. 

"  But  I  am  old ;  most  of  my  manhood's  fire 
Is  choked  in  cold,  white  ashes;  and  my  nerves 
Tremble  in  every  zephyr  like  the  leaves. 
What  can  I  do? — the  flag  must  not  be  missed 
From  the  cathedral's  summit !     I've  no  son, 
Or  he  should  bear  the  banner,  or  my  curse. 
I  have  a  daughter ;  she  shall  wave  the  flag ! 

"  And  this  is  how  my  child  shall  wave  the  flag. 

Ten  suitors  has  she;  and  the  valiant  one 

Who,  strong  of  heart  and  will,  can  climb  that  perch 

And  do  what  I  so  many  times  have  done, 

Shall  take  her  hand  from  mine  at  his  descent. 

Speak  up,  Vienna  lads !  and  recollect 

How  much  of  loveliness  faint  heart  e'er  won." 

Then  there  was  clamor  in  the  callow  breasts 
Of  the  Vienna  youth;  for  she  was  far 
The  sweetest  blossom  of  that  city's  vines. 


52  CITY    LEGENDS 

Many  a  youngster's  eye  climbed  furtively 
Where  the  frail  spire-tip  trembled  in  the  breeze, 
Then  wandered  to  the  cot  wherein  she  dwelt ; 
But  none  spoke  up,  till  Gabriel  Petersheim, 
Whose  ear  this  proclamation  strange  had  reached, 
Came  rushing  through  the  crowd,  and  boldly  said : 

"  I  am  your  daughter's  suitor,  and  the  one 
She  truly  loves ;  but  scarce  can  gain  a  smile 
Until  I  win  her  father's  heart  as  well ; 
And  you,  old  man,  have  frowned  on  me,  and  said 
I  was  too  young,  too  frivolous,  too  wild, 
And  had  not  manhood  worthy  of  her  hand. 
Mark  me  to-morrow  as  I  mount  yon  spire, 
And  mention,  when  I  bring  the  flag  to  you, 
Whether  'twas  ever  waved  more  gloriously." 

And  thus  the  old  man  answered:  "Climb  your  way; 
And  if  a  senseful  breeze  should  push  you  off, 
And  break  that  raw  and  somewhat  worthless  neck, 
I  could  not  greatly  mourn  ;  but  go  your  way, 
And  you  shall  have  the  girl  if  you  succeed." 

High  on  the  giddy  pinnacle,  next  day, 
Waited  the  youth ;  but  not  till  evening's  sun 
Marched  from  the  western  gates,  that  tardy  king 
Rode  past  the  church.     And  though  young  Gabriel's 

nerves 

Were  weakened  by  fatigue  and  want  of  food, 
He  pleased  the  people's  and  the  monarch's  eye, 
And  flashed  a  deeper  thrill  of  love  through  one 


SECOND   CHAIN  53 

Who  turned  her  sweet  face  often  up  to  him, 

And  whose  true  heart  stood  with  him  on  the  tower. 

Now,  when  the  kingly  pageant  all  had  passed, 
He  folded  up  the  flag,  and  with  proud  smiles 
And  prouder  heart  prepared  him  to  descend. 
But  the  small  trap-door  through  which  he  had  crept 
Had  by  some  rival's  hand  been  barred  !  and  he, 
With  but  a  hand-breadth's  space  where  he  might  cling, 
Was  left  alone,  to  live  there,  or  to  die. 

Guessing  the  truth,  or  shadow  of  the  truth, 

He  smiled,  at  first,  and  said  :  "  Well,  let  them  voice 

Their  jealousy  by  such  a  paltry  trick ! 

They  laugh  an  hour ;  my  laugh  will  longer  be ! 

Their  joke  will  soon  be  dead,  and  I  released." 

But  an  hour,  and  two  others,  slowly  came, 

And  then  he  murmured,  "  This  is  no  boy's  sport ; 

It  is  a  silent  signal  which  means  '  Death ' !" 

He  shouted,  but  no  answer  came  to  him ; 

Not  even  an  echo,  on  that  lofty  perch. 

He  waved  his  hands  in  mute  entreaty;  but 

The  darkness  crept  between  him  and  his  friends. 

A  half-hour  seemed  an  age,  and  still  he  clung. 
He  looked  down  at  the  myriad  city  lights, 
Twinkling  like  stars  upon  a  lowlier  sky, 
And  prayed ;  "  O  blessed  city  of  my  birth ! 
In  which  full  many  I  love,  and  one  o'er-well, 
Or  I  should  not  be  feebly  clinging  here, 


54  CITY   LEGENDS 

Is  there  not  'mongst  those  thousands  one  kind  heart 
To  help  me?  or  must  I  come  back  to  you 
Crashing  my  way  through  grim,  untimely  death  ?" 
Rich  sounds  of  mirth  came  faintly — but  no  help. 

Another  hour  went  by,  and  still  he  clung. 
He  braced  himself  against  the  rising  breeze, 
And  wrapped  the  flag  around  his  shivering  form, 
And  thus  he  prayed  unto  the  merry  winds : 

"  O  breeze !  you  bear  no  tales  of  truer  love 

Than  I  can  give  you  at  this  lonely  height! 

Tell  but  my  danger  to  the  heart  I  serve, 

And  she  will  never  rest  till  I  am  free !" 

The  winds  pressed  hard  against  him  as  he  clung, 

And  wellnigh  wrenched  him  from  that  scanty  hold, 

But  made  no  answer  to  his  piteous  plea. 

Hour  after  hour  went  by,  and  still  he  held — 
Weak,  dizzy,  reeling — to  his  narrow  perch. 
It  was  a  clear  and  queenly  summer  night ; 
And  every  star  seemed  hanging  from  the  sky, 
As  if  'twere  bending  down  to  look  at  him. 
And  thus  he  prayed  to  the  far-shining  stars : 

"  O  million  worlds,  peopled  perhaps  like  this, 
Can  you  not  see  me,  clinging  helpless  here  ? 
Can  you  not  flash  a  message  to  some  eye, 
Or  throw  your  influence  on  some  friendly  brain 
To  rescue  me  ?" — A  million  sweet-eyed  stars 
Gave  smiles  to  the  beseecher,  but  no  help. 


SECOND    CHAIN  55 

And  so  the  long  procession  of  the  night 

Marched  slowly  past,  and  each  scarce  hour  was  hailed 

By  the  great  clock  beneath ;  and  still  he  clung 

Unto  the  frail  preserver  of  his  life, 

And  held,  not  for  his  life,  but  for  his  love. 

Held  while  the  spiteful  breezes  wrenched  at  him ; 

Held  while  the  chills  of  midnight  crept  through  him ; 

While  Hope  and  Fear  made  him  their  battle-ground, 

And  ravaged  fiercely  through  his  heart  and  brain. 

He  moaned,  he  wept,  he  prayed  again ;  he  prayed — 

Grown  desperate  and  half  raving  in  his  woe — 

To  everything  in  earth,  or  air,  or  sky : 

To  the  fair  streets,  now  still  and  silent  grown ; 

To  the  cold  roofs,  now  stretched  'twixt  him  and  aid ; 

To  the  dumb,  distant  hills  that  heedless  slept; 

To  the  white  clouds  that  slowly  fluttered  past ; 

To  his  lost  mother  in  the  sky  above ; 

And  then  he  prayed  to  God. 

About  that  time, 

The  maiden,  who,  half  anxious  and  half  piqued 
That  her  through  all  the  evening  he'd  not  sought, 
Had  sunk  into  a  restless,  thorn-strown  sleep, 
Dreamed  that  she  saw  her  lover  on  the  tower, 
Clinging  for  life;  and  with  a  scream  uprose, 
And  rushed  to  the  old  sexton's  yielding  door, 
Granting  no  peace  to  him  until  he  ran 
To  find  the  truth,  and  give  the  boy  release. 

An  hour  ere  sunrise  he  crept  feebly  down, 
Grasping  the  flag,  and  claiming  his  fair  prize. 


56  CITY   LEGENDS 

But  what  a  wreck  to  win  a  blooming  girl ! 
His  cheeks  were  wrinkled  and  of  yellow  hue ; 
His  eyes  were  sunken ;  and  his  curling  hair 
Gleamed  white  as  snow  upon  the  distant  Alps. 

But  the  young  maiden  clasped  his  weary  head 

In  her  white  arms,  and  soothed  him  like  a  child ; 

And  said,  "You  lived  a  life  of  woe  for  me 

Up  on  the  spire,  and  now  look  old  enough 

Even  to  please  my  father;  but  soon  I 

Will  nurse  you  back  into  your  youth  again." 

And  soon  the  tower  bells  sang  his  wedding  song. 
The  old-young  man  was  happy;  and  they  both, 
Cheered  by  the  well-earned  bounty  of  the  king, 
Lived  many  years  within  Vienna's  gates. 

[A  brief  interval  of  silence  follows.  The  portraits 
of  the  old  people  on  the  wall  seem  to  have  awakened; 
their  forms  have  the  appearance  of  stretching, 
after  a  nice  little  nap.  ETHEL  looks  dreamily 
out  of  the  window,  yawns  in  her  eyes,  at  a  flirta 
tion  going  on  across  the  street. 

FITZ  CLINTONNE. 
Was  he  not  faithful  ?— answer  me  ! 

ETHEL. 

Yes,  I  confess;  'tis  only  fair 
To  admit  that  a  man  will  faithful  be 

If  placed  on  a  tower  and  locked  up  there. 


SECOND    CHAIN  57 

FITZ  CLINTONNE  (thoughtfully,  and  aside). 
A  turn  of  the  story  I  didn't  foresee. 
[Aloud]  Ethel,  I  love  you !— I  am  the  youth 
Upon  that  tower ;  and  I  wave,  in  truth, 
The  banner  of  love ;  for  all  can  see, 
Who  have  much  knowledge  of  you  and  me, 
My  unhid  passion! — but  far  from  reach 
You  are  locked  away  by  my  lack  of  speech. 
The  walls  of  my  reticence  gloom  about — 
Ethel,  for  Heaven's  sake,  let  me  out ! 
I  WILL  break  through,  with  Love's  strong  arts, 
And  give  you  the  password  of  our  hearts ! 
The  words  are  coming ! 

[An  empty  express  wagon  rushes  like  a  peal  of  thun 
der  along  the  street,  shaking  the  house  to  its  very 
foundations,  and  overwhelming  all  other  sound. 
FITZ  CLINTONNE  sinks  back  in  hopeless  silence. 
ETHEL  laughs  drearily.  The  portraits  on  the 
wall  vibrate,  and  a  sealed  envelope  drops  from 
the  grandmother  s  picture  —  almost  as  it  might 
be  from  the  venerable  lady's  pocket.  Her  face 
looks  as  if  she  were  glad  to  get  rid  of  it.  ETHEL 
picks  it  up. 

ETHEL. 
Another  poem,  I  do  declare  ! — 

From  a  cousin  I  will  not  name ; 

Placed  (the  poem)  within  the  frame, 
Just  to  help  keep  the  canvas  there. 
A  maiden  lady  of — certain  age — 
Thrilled  with  a  mild  poetic  rage ; 


58  CITY    LEGENDS 

She  sends  us  copies  of  every  rhyme ; 
We  do  not  open  them  half  the  time.     [Breaks  the  en 
velope^ 

But  this  I  will  read.     And  you  may  know 
By  the  title  why  I  do  so. 
Reads  : 

A  WOMAN'S  DEVOTION  ;  OR,  TRUE  TO  BROTHER  SPEAR 

I  can't  decide  why  Brother  Spear 

Was  never  joined  to  me; 
It  wasn't  because  the  good  old  dear 

Hadn't  every  chance  to  be ! 
If  Poetry  remarked,  one  time, 

That  "  Womanhood  is  true," 
It's  more  than  probable  that  I'm 

The  one  it  had  in  view; 
For  search  the  city,  low  and  high, 

Inquire,  both  far  and  near, 
There's  none  will  say  but  what  that  I 

Was  true  to  Brother  Spear! 

I  mothered  all  his  daughters  when 

Their  mamma's  life  cut  short, 
Although  they  didn't — now  or  then — 

So  much  as  thank  me  for't; 
I  laughed  down  my  interior  rage, 

And  said  I  didn't  care, 
When  his  young  son,  of  tender  age, 

Reduced  my  surplus  hair ; 


SECOND    CHAIN  59 

I  called  and  called  and  called  there;  why 

He  was  not  in,  seemed  queer ; 
The  neighbors,  even,  owned  that  I 

Was  true  to  Brother  Spear! 

I  hired  a  sitting  in  the  church, 

Near  him,  but  corner-wise, 
So  his  emotions  I  could  search 

With  my  devoted  eyes ; 
And  when  the  sermon  used  to  play 

On  love,  divine  and  free, 
I  nodded  him,  as  if  to  say, 

"  It's  hitting  you  and  me !" 
He  went  and  took  another  pew — 

Of  "  thousand  tongues  "  in  fear ; 
I  also  changed,  and  still  was  true 

To  good  old  Brother  Spear! 

Poor  man! — I  recollect  he  spoke, 

One  large  prayer-meeting  night, 
And  told  how  little  we  must  look, 

In  Heaven's  majestic  sight; 
He  said,  Unworthy  he  had  been, 

By  Conscience  e'er  abhorred, 
To  be  a  door-keeper  within 

The  temple  of  The  Lord; 
And  that  his  place  forevermore, 

Undoubtedly  and  clear, 
Was  mainly  back  behind  the  door — 

Poor  humble  Brother  Spear! 


60  CITY    LEGENDS 

And  then  /  rose  and  made  a  speech, 

Brimful  of  soul  distress ; 
And  told  them  how  words  could  not  reach 

My  own  unworthiness : 
Though  orphanage  I  tried  to  soothe, 

And  helpless  widowerhood, 
To  tell  the  incandescent  truth, 

I  too  felt  far  from  good ; 
And  that  a  trembling  heart  and  mind 

Compelled  it  to  appear 
That  my  place  also  was  behind 

The  door,  with  Brother  Spear ! 

Poor  man !  he  ne'er  was  heard,  they  say, 

Again  to  gladly  speak ; 
He  took  down  sick  the  following  day, 

And  died  within  a  week. 
One  prayer  they  often  heard  him  give — 

That,  if  his  days  were  o'er, 
7  still  upon  the  earth  might  live 

A  hundred  years  or  more. 
As  his  betrothed  I  figure,  now, 

And  drop  the  frequent  tear; 
And  his  relations  all  will  vow 

I'm  true  to  Brother  Spear ! 

[The portraits  on  the  wall  look  quite  interested  and 
considerably  amused.  ETHEL  tears  the  paper 
into  fragments. 


SECOND    CHAIN  6l 

ETHEL  (pouting). 
Senseless  creature !     If  I  had  known 

What  'twas  she  wrote,  I'd  have  not  begun  it ! 

FITZ  CLINTONNE  (laughing). 
But  she  was  faithful,  I  will  own ; 

Love  so  fervent — how  could  he  shun  it? 

ETHEL. 
He  couldn't,  except  through  Death's  design. 

FITZ  CLINTONNE. 

No  more,  dear  Ethel,  than  you  can  mine. 
Perhaps,  somewhere,  she  may  woo  and  win 

This  scornful  man,  if  she  works  and  waits : 
For  passion  is  oft  concealed  within 

A  cloak  that  its  object  loathes  and  hates. 
And  true  devotion  and  love,  they  say, 
("  It's  dogged  as  does  it ")  will  win,  some  day. 
Still,  one  must  walk  a  hard  road  yet, 
To  always  pursue  and  ne'er  be  met ; 
But  man  is  equal  to  that  same  task. 
Hear  of  another  faithful  one —       [Draws  a  newspaper. 

ETHEL  (in  mild  consternation). 
Oh,  it  is  more  than  I  could  ask ! 

FITZ  CLINTONNE  (resolutely). 
No,  don't  mention  it ! 

ETHEL.  Then  don't  you! 

FITZ  CLINTONNE  (resolutely). 
Judge  if  I  may  not,  when  'tis  done ; 

Yes,  you  must  hear  it,  without  fail ! 
A  man  who  waited  his  whole  life  through: 

Hear  the  poor  fellow's  doleful  tale. 

Reads  : 


62  CITY    LEGENDS 


TWELVE  O  CLOCK  :  A  LEGEND  OF   BROOKLYN 

"  '  Do  I  love  you  ?'     Oh,  but  listen  !" — 
And  he  saw  her  dark  eyes  glisten 
With  a  gentle  joy  that  filled  him, 
With  a  passion-wave  that  thrilled  him: 
"  '  Do  I  love  you  ?'    Ask  the  ages 
Front  of  this  life's  blotted  pages — 
Cycles  that  our  minds  forget, 
But  our  souls  remember  yet — 
If  the  strands  they  saw  us  twine 
In  great  moments  half  divine 
Cannot  stand  against  the  cold 
Voice  and  touch  of  senseless  gold  ? 
How  can  Wealth  forbid  the  meeting 
Of  two  hearts  that  blend  in  beating? 
How  can  Thrift  presume  to  fashion 
Heaven's  eternal  love  and  passion  ? 
Listen  ! — if  'tis  not  o'er-soon, 
Come  to-morrow-day  at  noon ; — 
On  that  glad — that  mournful  day 
When  my  girlhood  creeps  away — 
On  that  day — the  understood 
Birthday  of  my  womanhood — 
Come !  and,  joined  in  hand  as  heart, 
We  will  walk  no  more  apart. 
Meet  me — do  not  let  me  wait — 
By  this  iron— this  golden  gate — 
When,  its  mid-day  hour  to  tell, 
Rings  the  silvery  court-house  bell. 


SECOND  CHAIN  63 

"  Should  I  fail  you,  dear,  to-morrow, 
Go  away,  but  not  in  sorrow ; 
There  be  many  ways  may  meet 
Fetters  round  a  maiden's  feet. 
There  be  watchers — there  be  spies — 
There  be  jealous  tongues  and  eyes; 
Many  hate  my  love  for  you, 
And  would  cut  our  life  in  two. 
Oh,  they  guard  me  all  the  time, 
As  if  loving  were  a  crime ! 

"  Should  I  fail  the  second  morrow, 

Hope  from  next  day  you  must  borrow; 

If  I  fail  you  then — endure ; 

Hope  and  trust  be  still  the  cure. 

Naught  on  earth  has  power — has  art 

Long  to  hold  us  two  apart ; 

None  but  God  were  equal  to  it, 

And  I  know  He  would  not  do  it. 

I  will  come  to  you,  indeed ; 

You  would  wait,  love,  were  there  need  ?" 

And  he  said,  with  brave  endeavor, 

"  I  will  wait  for  you  forever. 

Each  day  I  shall  come  to  you, 

Till  you  come,  and  find  me  true. 

Each  day  hear  the  hopeful  swell 

Of  the  mid-day  court-house  bell." 

So,  next  day,  he  stood  and  waited 
For  the  soul  his  soul  had  mated  ; 


64  CITY    LEGENDS 

Saw  the  clock's  black  finger  climb 
To  its  topmost  round  of  time — 
Heard  the  mighty  metal  throat 
Sing  afar  its  mid-day  note ; 
Listened,  with  a  nervous  thrill, 
And  his  warm  heart  standing  still, 
Glanced  about,  with  keen  desire, 
And  his  yearning  soul  afire ; 
Searched,  and  searched,  with  jealous  care- 
Searched — but  saw  no  loved  one  there. 
" '  Should  I  fail  you,  dear,  to-morrow, 
Go  away,  but  not  in  sorrow ;' 
'Twas  her  word,"  he  softly  said  : 
"  Be  she  living,  be  she  dead, 
Still  my  heart  is  scant  of  fear ; 
She  will  some  time  meet  me  here. 
My  sad  soul  I  will  employ 
With  to-morrow's  destined  joy; 
Here  is  happiness  for  me, 
Living  o'er  what  is  to  be. 
She  will  come — her  love  to  tell — 
With  to-morrow's  mid-day  bell." 

So,  next  day,  he  watched  and  waited, 
With  a  heart  by  hope  elated ; 
Peering — searching  for  a  face 
Full  of  love-exalted  grace. 
But  his  glance  crept  far  and  wide 
With  some  fear  it  could  not  hide ; 
Crept  across  the  grimy  pavement, 
Moaning  in  its  dull  enslavement; 


SECOND    CHAIN  65 

Roamed  the  long  streets,  empty-seeming, 
Though  with  lovely  faces  gleaming; 
Shivered,  as  with  landscape  drear, 
'Neath  a  blue  sky,  bright  and  clear; 
For  the  bell,  with  sorrowing  strain, 
Called  her  to  his  side  in  vain. 
'"If  I  fail  the  second  morrow, 
Hope  from  next  day  you  must  borrow :'  • 
'Twas  her  word,"  he  bravely  said : 
"  Let  to-morrow  stand  instead." 
Still  upon  his  heart  there  fell 
Shadows  from  the  mid-day  bell. 

Day  by  day  he  watched  and  waited, 

By  cold  Disappointment  fated ; 

Bit  by  bit  his  hoping  ceased ; 

Hour  by  hour  his  faith  increased. 

Oft  he  strove  to  find  her,  then, 

In  her  guardian's  palace-den; 

But  the  looks  he  met  were  bleak, 

And  the  marble  would  not  speak, 

Would  not  show  the  poisoned  thong 

Of  a  dark  and  fiendish  wrong ; 

Would  not  tell  the  woe  and  rage 

Of  a  dreary  mad-house  cage, 

Where  the  girl  was  kept  by  stealth, 

Lest  she  claim  her  paltry  wealth. 

Could  not  hear  her  frantic  prayer 

That  God's  hand  might  reach  her  there; 

Could  not  see  her  droop  away 

Hour  by  hour  and  day  by  day; 


66  CITY   LEGENDS 

Could  not  feel  her  breath  grow  still 
With  the  healing  arts  that  kill ; 
Could  not  trace  the  greed  that  gave 
Her  a  half-named  marble  grave. 
Still  he  watched  and  waited  well, 
'Neath  the  weary  noontide  bell. 

Days  and  weeks  and  months  and  years 
Coursed  the  face  of  time,  like  tears — 
Spring's  sweet-scented  mid-day  air, 
Summer's  fierce  meridian  glare, 
Autumn's  mingled  lead  and  gold, 
Winter's  murder-thrusts  of  cold. 
Patiently  he  braved  each  one 
At  its  mid-day  cloud  or  sun ; 
Silently  he  turned — was  gone — 
Sad,  desponding,  and  alone. 
Still  his  famished  eyes  crept  round, 
Still  he  thrilled  at  every  sound : 
'"Nought  on  earth  has  power — has  art- 
Long  to  hold  us  two  apart ; 
None  but  God  were  equal  to  it, 
And  I  know  He  would  not  do  it.' 
'Twas  her  word,"  he  grimly  said  : 
"  She  will  come,  alive  or  dead." 
Pavement  travellers  passed  him  by, 
Day  by  day,  with  curious  eye ; 
Dreamers  sought  romance  to  trace 
In  his  bronzed  and  fading  face; 
Questioners,  though  kind,  were  yet 
With  cold,  patient  silence  met; 


SECOND   CHAIN  ffj 

Still  he  watched  and  waited  well, 
By  the  lonely  court-house  bell. 


Yet  he  came — yet  crept  away; 

And  his  dark-brown  hair  grew  gray, 

And  his  manhood's  power  grew  spent, 

And  his  form  was  thin  and  bent. 

Poorly  clad  and  rough  to  see ; 

Crushed  by  Sickness'  stern  decree ; 

For  intense  compassion  fit, 

But  still  grandly  scorning  it. 

"  He  is  crazed,"  they  said,  aside : 

"  I  am  sane !"  his  heart  replied. 

" '  I  will  come  to  you,  indeed ; 

You  would  wait,  love,  were  there  need !' 

'Twas  her  word,"  he  faintly  said : 

"  Hands  will  meet  if  hearts  are  wed." 

Sometimes  to  him  it  would  seem, 

Half  in  earnest,  half  in  dream, 

He  could  view  her  loveliness — 

He  could  feel  her  fond  caress. 

But  some  passing  sound  or  sight 

Sent  the  vision  back  to  night; 

And  a  dull  and  mournful  knell 

Seemed  the  leaden  court-house  bell. 


As,  one  day,  his  weakened  form 
Bent  before  a  winter  storm, 
As  he  fell — Death's  fear  before  him, 
And  a  veil  of  darkness  o'er  him — 


68  CITY    LEGENDS 

Soft  a  voice — or  was  it  seeming? — 

Full  a  form — or  was  he  dreaming? — 

Brought  a  rapture  that  repaid 

All  the  debts  that  Grief  had  made. 

"  O  my  love !"  the  words  came  fast ; 

"  Do  you  see  me,  then,  at  last  ? 

Do  you  hear  me — do  you  feel  me — 

Can  the  world  no  more  conceal  me  ? 

'  Did  I  meet  you  ?'     Oh,  but  listen  ! 

When  released  from  Pain's  black  prison, 

Long  through  deserts  and  through  meadows, 

Long  through  Death's  black  silent  shadows, 

With  my  soul  God's  help  entreating, 

Sought  I  for  our  place  of  meeting. 

Oh,  I  crushed  my  arms  around  you, 

When  I  found  you — when  I  found  you — 

Saw  you  sorrow's  black  net  weaving — 

Fondly  suffering — bravely  grieving — 

Saw  the  truth  you  could  not  see — 

Felt  your  loving  faith  in  me. 

How,  each  day,  God's  help  entreating, 

Came  I  to  our  place  of  meeting ! 

How  I  hailed  each  coming  morrow ! 

How  I  strove  to  soothe  your  sorrow ! 

Times,    the   thought   would    come    to   cheer 

me, 

'  He  can  see  me !     He  can  hear  me  !' 
Then  the  mists  of  earth  would  screen  us — 
Then  day's  darkness  stepped  between  us. 
Yet  your  dear  soul  I  could  see, 
Suffering  still  its  way  to  me. 


".    .    .A  FORM — OR   WAS    HE   DREAMING?" 


SECOND    CHAIN  69 

Pain  at  last  has  cut  the  tether; 

Death  will  let  us  live  together. 

Darling,  throw  your  arms  around  me ! 

You  have  found  me — you  have  found  me — 

Nought  on  earth  had  power  or  art 

Long  to  hold  us  two  apart. 

None  but  God  were  equal  to  it, 

And  I  knew  He  would  not  do  it. 

Listen  !     Hear  the  echoes  swell 

Of  our  merry  wedding-bell !" 


[A  few  moments  of  phenomenal  silence  ensue. 
ETHEL  absently  toys  with  a  musical  album  on 
the  table  near  her ;  she  touches  the  spring 
unconsciously,  and  there  leaps  forth  in  small, 
diminutive  tones  an  affecting  little  love  ditty, 
thus,  as  it  were,  furnishing  to  the  scene  an 
appropriate  dramatic  accompaniment  of  soft 


FITZ  CLINTONNE  (suddenly). 
Ethel,  the  bonds  of  speech  are  broken ! 
Now  or  ne'er  shall  the  word  be  spoken — 

\A  terrific  shock  of  earthquake  interrupts  him 
— the  first  known  in  that  city  for  years.  Fur 
niture  commences  an  impromptu  dance.  Por 
traits  on  the  wall  nearly  knock  their  heads 
together.  ETHEL  screams,  and  clings  reso- 


70  CITY   LEGENDS 

lutely  and  perseveringly  to  FITZ  CLINTONNE 
for  protection.  Their  lips  accidentally  meet 
in  a  long  and  half -delirious  kiss — the  first 
they  have  thus  far  placed  on  record.  This  so 
absorbs  the  young  gentleman,  that,  although 
quite  scientifically  inclined,  he  forgets  to  study 
any  other  of  the  seismic  effects  about  him. 
Indeed,  the  earthquake  almost  immediately 
subsides. 

ETHEL  (slowly  unclinging  herself). 
Who  would  have  thought  that — thrilled  with  bliss — 
The  password  was,  after  all — a  kiss ! 

{Portraits  opposite  them  seem  to  assume  a 
"  Bless  you,  my  children,"  look.  The  usual 
amount  of  serenity  resumes  its  sway.  Street 
traffic  recommences  its  clamors,  but  is  un 
heard  within. 


THIRD  CHAIN 


Cbain 


SCENE  I.  ,  Christmas  morning  in  an  old-  fashioned  country  kitchen. 
Culinary  apparatus  is  lying  about  in  a  semi-orderly  manner. 
Bunches  of  seed-corn  are  braided  together  by  the  husks  over 
the  doors.  A  Bible  and  hymn-book  are  on  the  mantel.  An 
almanac  is  hanging  near  by.  The  last  numbers  of  the  Dea 
con's  own  denominational  journal  and  the  local  paper  of  a 
neighboring  village  rest  upon  a  table  in  the  corner  —  a  pair  of 
steel-bowed  spectacles  lying  across  them.  Two  cats  are  camp 
ing  cosily  and  contentedly  before  the  large  kitchen  stove  —  one 
of  them  purring  softly  in  a  half  -slumber,  the  other  silent  in 
absolute  sleep. 

Deacon  KINDMAN. 

Trim  up  the  parlors,  good  -wife,  and  make  them  extra 
gay, 

For  I'm  to  have  a  party,  on  this  cold  Christmas  Day: 
The  friends  that  are   invited   will   be   here  —  do  not 

doubt  ! 
I'll  go   myself  and   bring  them,  unless   they'll  come 

without. 

Oh  yes  !  you've  been  a-guessing,  perhaps  a  month  or 

two, 
About  my  Christmas  party,  and  what  I  meant  to  do  ; 


74  CITY    LEGENDS 

The  first  whose  invitations  have  all  been  left  to  me : 
You're  not  quite  sure   concerning  the   guests  you're 
going  to  see. 

Our  children  ? — No,  not  this  time ;  they've  children  of 

their  own, 
Whose   Christmas    trees    are    bending    with    presents 

newly  grown ; 
They've  got  their  life-vines  planted,  with  love-flowers 

all  about- 
Just  what  -we  worked  so  hard  for,  when  first  we  started 

out. 

Our  cousins?  —  Well,  not  this  time;   'tisn't  what  the 

plan  intends ; 
They're  all  quite  earthly  prosperous,  with  any  amount 

of  friends ; 

The  world  is  always  offering  success  an  upward  hitch ; 
But  Christmas  wasn't  invented  entirely  for  the  rich. 

Our  preacher  and  his  family?  —  They're  working  now, 
like  sin, 

A-sorting  out  the  slippers  and  other  gifts  sent  in ; 

One  turkey  that  I  know  of  is  on  their  kitchen  blaze ; 

A  cheery,  popular  preacher  has  good  times,  nowa 
days  ! 

You   don't  know  who  you've  cooked   for? — Well,  that 

is  'most  too  bad  ; 
Of  course  you've  no  cur'os'ty— no  woman  ever  had ! 


THIRD   CHAIN  75 

But   still,  your  hands  and  heart,  wife,  have  wellnigh 

gone  to  war ! 
A  woman  works  much  happier  when  she  knows  who 

it's  for  ?  ... 

I'll  tell  you  one:— a  cripple  that  you  and  I  both  know 
Is  living  in  a  small  hut,  half  buried  in  the  snow — 
His  body  bravely  struggling  to  coax  his  soul  to  stay; 
I'm  going  to  get  that  cripple,  and  keep  him  here  all 
day. 

And  one's  a  poor  old  woman  we've  never  called  our 

friend, 
But  whose  sad  life  grows  heavy  while  struggling  to  its 

end — 

Without  a  merry  Christmas  for  twenty  winters  drear ! 
To-day  she'll  have  a  picnic  to  last  her  all  the  year. 

And  one's  an  old-style  preacher,  brimful  of  heavenly 

truth, 
Whose    eloquence    lost  fashion,  or  ran    off  with    his 

youth  ; 
And  younger  men  and   prettier,  with   flowery  words 

came  nigh, 
And  so  the  various  churches  have  stood  the  old  man 

by. 

He  tried  his  best  to  please  them  and  serve  Jehovah 

too — 
He  toiled  each  separate  Sunday  to  "  get  up  something 


76  CITY    LEGENDS 

They  wanted  elocution,  and  curvey-gestured  speech ! 
And  now  this  grand  old  preacher  can't  get  a  place  to 
preach. 

But  I've  a  strong  opinion  that  angels  crowd  up  near 
That  man-deserted  leader,  his  godlike  thoughts  to  hear; 
We'll  have  a  Bible-chapter  made  over  good  as  new 
When  he  to-day  talks  Gospel,  and  asks  the  blessing, 
too! 

"  And  who  else  ?"  —  I  have  sent  word  to  all  in  my 
mind's  way 

Who  can't  afford  a  dinner  that's  equal  to  The  Day; 

And  some  good  prosperous  friends,  too,  will  come  with 
smiling  face, 

To  keep  those  poor  from  feeling  that  they're  a  sepa 
rate  race. 

And  one  of  them's  a  neighbor,  who,  though  sincere, 

no  doubt, 
Once  couldn't  quite  understand  me  —  and  so  we  two 

fell  out; 
And  every  Sunday  morning  we've  passed  each  other's 

door, 
And  have  not  known  each  other  for  fifteen  years  or 

more : 

I  went  to  him  last  evening,  and  said,  "  Old  friend,  see 

here; 
We're  both  tip-top  good  fellows :  now,  doesn't  it  strike 

you  queer, 


THIRD    CHAIN  77 

That  we're  assisting  Satan  to  sow  the  grain  of  strife  ? 
Come  over,  sure,  to-morrow,  and  bring  along  your  wife. 

"Just  come  and  help  us,  helping  some  poor  ones  draw 

their  loads, 
Who've  stalled  upon  the  side -hills  of   Life's  uneven 

roads." 

He  looked  at  me  in  wonder,  then  stood  a  moment  still 
Then  grasped  my  hands  and  whispered,  "  My  dear  old 

friend,  I  will." 

I  think  you're  with  me,  good  -  wife,  from  what  your 

features  say — 
And  that's  the  kind  of  comp'ny  we're  going  to  have 

to-day ; 
Through  which  I   hope  a  true  love  for  all   mankm< 

may  roam — 
A  sort  of  Christmas  party  where  Christ  would  feel  at 

home. 

SCENE  II  ,  a  large  number  assembled  in  the  parlor.  It  is  not 
exactly  a  homogeneous  company,  but  seems  to  be  quite  a  happy 
one  nevertheless.  Deacon  KINDMAN  has  evidently  followed 
his  plan  to  the  letter.  Everybody  that  he  invited  ts  present, 
and  a  few  that  he  did  not  have  happened  in.  The  company 
have  just  risen  from  prayer  -with  the  good  old-style  preacher, 
•who  has  thoroughly  appreciated  and  improved  the  now  unu 
sual  opportunity.  He  takes  this  occasion  to  combine  two  ser 
mons-one  on  Thanksgiving  Day  and  one  on  Christmas  - 
•which  have  for  many  years  been  growing  in  his  heart,  w, 
ing  for  a  chance  to  be  preached. 


78  CITY   LEGENDS 

Deacon  KINDMAN. 

Now  in  tuneful  chorus  our  thanks  we  will  prolong, 
And  sing  to  the   Father  of  fathers   our  own  thanks 
giving  song. 

With  soul,  as  well  as  larynx,  let  all  of  us  rejoice, 
And  not  perform  our  worship  entirely  with  the  voice. 

[JEREMI  AH,a  neighboring  poor  man's  son,  passes 
round  papers  containing  a  hymn  which  he 
has  copied  in  an  uncultured  but  very  reada 
ble  hand. 
All  sing. 

HYMN    OF   THANKSGIVING 

To  the  air,  "  Portuguese  Hymn." 

We  thank  Thee,  O  Father,  for  all  that  is  bright— 
The  gleam  of  the  day  and  the  stars  of  the  night ; 
The  flowers  of  our  youth  and  the  fruits  of  our  prime, 
And  blessings  e'er  marching  the  pathway  of  time. 

We  thank  Thee,  O  Father,  for  all  that  is  drear— 
The  sob  of  the  tempest,  the  flow  of  the  tear ; 
For  never  in  blindness,  and  never  in  vain, 
Thy  mercy  permitted  a  sorrow  or  pain. 

We  thank  Thee,  O  Father,  for  song  and  for  feast — 
The  harvest    that    glowed   and    the  wealth    that   in 
creased  ; 

For  never  a  blessing  encompassed  thy  child 
But  Thou  in  Thy  mercv  looked  downward  and  smiled. 


THIRD   CHAIN  79 

We  thank  Thee,  O  Father  of  all,  for  the  power 
Of  aiding  each  other  in  life's  darkest  hour — 
The  generous  heart  and  the  bountiful  hand, 
And  all  the  soul-help  that  sad  souls  understand. 

We  thank  Thee,  O  Father,  for  days  yet  to  be, 
For  hopes  that  our  future  will  call  us  to  Thee  ; 
That  all  our  Eternity  form,  through  Thy  love, 
One  Thanksgiving  Day  in  the  mansions  above. 

Deacon  KINDMAN. 
And  now  a  neighbor's  daughter,  who — don't  waste  time 

to  doubt — 

Knows  how  to  read  a  poem  and  turn  it  inside  out, 
Who  first  sits  down  and  invites  it  into  her  heart  and 

soul, 
And  part  of  herself  surrenders  entire  to  its  control, 

And  part  of  her  mind  keeps  clear,  like,  when  ready,  as 

she  ought 
To  be — to  give  to  the  author  the  aid  of  her  own  clear 

thought 
(For  face  and  form  and  gesture  —  be  't  good  or  be  it 

bad- 
Add  much  to  an  author's  meaning,  or  rob  him  of  what 

he  had); 

Whose  mental   frills   and   tuckers  are  laid  upon  the 

shelf, 
And  who,  in  her  well-conned  subject,  can  partly  forget 

herself ; 


8o  CITY    LEGENDS 

This  daughter  of  my  good  neighbor,  who  sits,  himself, 
near  by, 

And  needn't  be  blamed  for  looking  at  her  with  a  par 
tial  eye, 

Will  read  a  poem  to  us,  presenting,  I  believe, 

A  legend  of  what  happened  on  the  first  Christmas  Eve. 

ALICE  (the  neighbor's  daughter,  reads, plainly,  thought 
fully,  spiritedly,  and  without  affectation) : 


THE  VOICE  OF  A  STAR;   OR,  THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  EVE 

Dark  Night  once  more  her  tent  unfurled 

On  Power's  first-century  home — 
Upon  the  marble  heart  of  the  world — 

The  great,  grand  city  of  Rome ; 
And  hushed  at  last  were  the  chariot-tires, 

And  still  the  sandalled  feet, 
And  dimmed  the  palace-window-fires 

On  many  a  noble  street ; 
And  to  a  roof  a  maiden  came, 

With  eyes  as  angels'  love, 
And  looked  up  at  the  spheres  of  flame 

That  softly  gleamed  above. 

She  gazed  at  them  with  a  misty  eye, 

And  spoke,  in  accents  sad : 
"  O  tell  me,  gold-birds  of  the  sky 

(If  ever  a  voice  you  had), 


THIRD    CHAIN  8l 

Is  justice  dull  from  a  palsy  stroke, 

And  deaf,  as  well  as  blind  ? 
Else  why  must  e'er  the  heaviest  yoke 

Be  placed  on  womankind  ? 
Why  should  the  solace  of  man's  heart 

Be  oft  his  meanest  slave? 
Why  is  her  life  e'er  torn  apart 

By  those  she  has  toiled  to  save  ? 

"  Why  should  the  mould  of  the  human  race 

Be  crushed  and  thrown  away, 
Whenever  it  lacks  the  outward  grace 

That  woos  the  stronger  clay  ? 
Why  must  the  mothers  of  men  be  bought 

And  sold,  like  beasts  that  die  ? 
Why  are  they  scourged,  for  little  or  nought, 

And  barred  of  all  reply? 
Why  are  we  women  of  Rome  e'er  told 

That  we  should  happy  be, 
Because  not  kept  like  flocks  in  fold, 

Like  those  across  the  sea? 

"  Have  we  no  heart  ?    Have  we  no  mind  ? 
Must  not  our  conscience  speak  ? 

Say !  must  our  souls  be  dumb  or  blind 
Because  our  hands  are  weak? 

Must  we  be  ever  the  laughing-stock 
Of  man's  fond,  fickle  heart  ? 

Were  we  but  born  for  Fate  to  mock- 
To  play  a  menial  part  ? 


82  CITY    LEGENDS 

Must  all  our  triumphs  be  a  lie — 

Our  joys  in  fetters  clad  ? 
Oh,  tell  me,  gold-birds  of  the  sky 

(If  ever  a  voice  you  had) !" 

Then  from  the  east  a  new,  bright  star 

Flashed  to  her  flashing  eye, 
And  seemed  to  speak  to  her  from  afar, 

With  courteous,  kind  reply  : 
"Why  weep,  fair  maid,  upon  the  eve 

Of  Victory's  coming  morn? 
It  is  o'er-strange  for  one  to  grieve 

Whose  champion's  to  be  born ! 
To-morrow  a  new,  old  king  appears, 

With  dimpled,  mighty  hand  ; 
And  He  shall  reign  a  million  years, 

O'er  many  a  princely  land. 

"  His  mother  a  queen  the  world  shall  see, 

Whose  reign  doth  e'er  endure ; 
All  women  shall  His  sisters  be 

Whose  ways  are  just  and  pure ; 
A  woman's  fault  shall  not  be  her  death, 

By  men  or  angels  seen ; 
Repentance,  and  His  God-strewn  breath, 

May  always  step  between. 
A  woman's  fame,  by  merit  won, 

Shall  add  to  her  queenly  grace ; 
And  higher,  as  the  years  march  on, 

Shall  be  her  destined  place. 


THIRD    CHAIN  83 

"  And  four  great  words  the  world  shall  see 

Enwoven  with  man's  life : 
Mother  and  sister  two  shall  be, 

And  two  be  daughter  and  wife. 
It  shall  be  felt  that  she  whose  care 

The  lamp  of  thrift  makes  burn, 
Can  take  with  him  an  equal  share 

Of  all  their  lives  may  earn  ; 
That  she  whose  soft  and  healing  hand 

Can  soothe,  with  blessing  bright, 
Is  no  less  great  and  true  and  grand 

Than  he  who  leads  the  fight." 

Like  one  who  through  a  wood  may  grope 

Till  light  comes  to  his  eyes, 
The  maiden  thrilled  with  new-born  hope, 

And  seized  the  glad  surprise. 
The  voice  of  the  star  she  understood, 

Its  glorious  meaning  knew, 
And  all  her  dreams  of  woman's  good 

Seemed  likely  to  come  true. 
And  when  once  more  the  twilight  gray 

Was  brightened  by  the  morn, 
Within  a  manger  far  away 

The  infant  Christ  was  born. 

[All  the  ladies  present  applaud  vigorously.  The 
men  nod,  in  mild  approbation.  The  old  cler 
gyman  states  that  he  has  a  series  of  thirteen 
sermons  upon  the  subject  of  womanhood's 
Christian  ennoblement,  which  he  should  be 


84  CITY   LEGENDS 

glad  to  give  in  the  district  school-house,  or  in 
any  church  "where  the  people  would  like  to 
assemble  for  the  purpose  of  hearing  him. 
Deacon  KINDMAN  arranges  with  him  to 
preach  the  first  of  the  series  in  his  parlor, 
upon  the  following  Sunday  evening.  All 
present  declare  they  will  come.  The  company 
then  sing  "Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee." 

Deacon  KINDMAN  (holding  the  hymn-book  in  his  hand). 
Not  alone  in  the  country,  where  God's  first  work  was 

done, 
Is  found  the  true  religion  that  came  from  His  mighty 

Son; 

Hear  what  an  author's  fancy  heard  a  city  brother  say 
When  just  about  to  be  "  moving,"  upon  the  First  of  May. 

[A  small  orphaned  boy,  whose  residence  just 
now  is  the  neighboring  poor-house,  and  who, 
even  in  that  environment,  has  developed  won 
derful  taste  and  talent,  recites : 

THE  OLD   HYMN-BOOK 

Yes,  wife,  we're  going  to  move  once  more ; 

The  last  time,  I  declare, 
Until  the  everlasting  shore 

Sends  word  it  wants  us  there ! 
Some  things  this  time  with  us  we'll  take, 

Some  leave  here  in  disgust, 
And  some  we'll  lose,  and  some  we'll  break, 

As  movers  always  must. 


THIRD    CHAIN  85 

The  family  Bible  we  will  find 

Devoutly  carried  through ; 
But  also,  wife,  don't  fail  to  mind 

And  save  the  hymn-book,  too ! 

Though  finger-marked  and  cupboard-worn, 

And  shabby  in  its  looks, 
I  prize  that  volume,  soiled  and  torn, 

Next  to  the  Book  of  books ; 
When  David  trimmed  his  golden  lyre 

With  song  forget-me-nots, 
He  left  a  flame  of  sacred  fire 

For  Wesley  and  for  Watts. 
And  many  other  singers,  wife, 

Have  made  God's  glory  known 
In  hymns  and  tunes  that  drew  their  life 

From  echoes  round  the  throne ! 

I've  sung  them  when,  on  lofty  track, 

My  heart  soared  through  the  sky, 
And  every  word  and  tone  brought  back 

A  telegraph  reply; 
I've  hummed  them  when  my  soul  with  grief 

Feared  all  its  prayers  were  vain, 
Till  they  have  braced  up  my  belief 

And  soothed  my  doubting  pain ; 
I've  told  them  to  the  woods,  and  stirred 

The  trees  up  to  rejoice ; 
I've  joined  in  meetings  where  God  heard 

Ten  thousand  in  one  voice ! 


86 


I've  paused — those  sacred  words  to  hear — 

When  life  was  gay  and  bright, 
And  every  sound  that  charmed  the  ear 

Brought  glory  to  the  sight ; 
I've  heard  them  when  the  sexton's  spade 

Had  cut  my  life  in  two, 
And  my  sad  heart,  by  their  sweet  aid, 

Has  walked  the  valley  through. 
Ah,  wife  !  when  heaven's  great  music-burst 

Awakes  my  senses  dim, 
I  humbly  hope  they'll  give  me  first 

A  good  old-fashioned  hymn ! 

I  trust,  when  our  last  moving-day 

Has  shown  us  God's  good  love, 
And  we  have  settled  down  to  stay 

In  colonies  above, 
We'll  find  a  hundred  earthly  things 

Our  hearts  had  twined  about, 
And  which — so  tight  the  memory  clings — 

Heaven  wouldn't  be  heaven  without; 
And  somewhere,  in  that  blessed  place, 

God  grant  I  may  behold, 
Near  by  the  precious  word  of  grace, 

My  hymn-book,  bound  in  gold  ! 

[A  great  deal  of  appreciation  is  expressed  of 
the  reading  of  this  poem.  No  one  seems 
much  struck  by  the  subject-matter,  except  the 
old  clergyman,  who  remarks  that  he  has  a 
series  of  fourteen  sermons  upon  the  influence 


THIRD  CHAIN  87 

of  hymns  on  the  human  race,  which  he  will 
be  happy  to  give  at  the  school-house,  or  any 
other  place  where  an  audience  will  assemble 
to  hear  them.  Deacon  KINDMAN  makes  ar 
rangements  to  have  the  first  of  the  series  de 
livered  in  his  parlor  upon  the  ensuing  Thurs 
day  evening,  and  all  the  company  promise  to 
be  present,  if  possible. 

Deacon  KINDMAN. 

And  now  our  good  old  pastor,  whose  heart  is  ever 
alive 

To  other  good  old  pastors,  and  how  they  toil  and 
strive, 

Will  read  how  a  city  preacher,  with  fame  in  his  well- 
filled  hand, 

Became  as  little  children,  when  near  to  the  heavenly 
land. 

The  old  CLERGYMAN  reads  : 


THE  PASTOR'S  FAREWELL* 

The  sermon  was  o'er — the  prayer — the  song — 
And  dimmed  was  the  mellow  light ; 

With  summer  at  heart,  the  homeward  throng 
Went  out  in  the  winter  night. 

*  An  incident  that  occurred  during  Henry  Ward  Beecher's 
last  Sunday  evening  in  the  church  where  he  had  preached  so  many 
years. 


88  CITY   LEGENDS 

But  the  pastor  stayed,  at  his  tired  heart's  choice, 

To  list  to  the  chanted  word ; 
For  the  organ-loft  and  the  human  voice 

Still  sang  to  the  pastor's  Lord. 

The  sweet  tones  brought  to  his  wearied  heart 

Their  mingled  smiles  and  tears ; 
And  he  felt  that  night  full  loath  to  part 

From  the  shrine  of  forty  years. 

The  scene  of  a  thousand  wondrous  hours 

He  saw,  as  he  glanced  around ; 
The  vase  of  affection's  faithful  flowers, 

The  blood  of  a  battle-ground. 

'Twas  here  he  had  preached,  with  tones  of  love 

Or  the  clarion  call  of  strife, 
Of  God  within,  as  well  as  above, 

And  sweetened  the  bread  of  life. 

And  here,  with  gesture  of  brave  command 

And  tenderly  beaming  face, 
He  reached  to  the  world  a  thrilling  hand, 

And  fought  for  the  human  race. 

'Twas  here,  with  a  strength  by  anguish  bought 

And  a  love  that  never  slept, 
He  rocked  the  cradle  of  new-born  thought, 

While  the  century  smiled  and  wept. 

He  saw  the  thousands  that  o'er  this  track 
Had  walked  to  the  country  of  day; 


AND    O'ER   THEIR    SHOULDERS   HIS   ARMS   HE   THREW 


THIRD    CHAIN  89 

And  now  they  seemed  to  be  reaching  back, 
And  beckoning  him  away. 

But  ere  long  time  his  soul  had  been 

By  olden  memories  stirred, 
Two  children  softly  wandered  in, 

To  list  to  the  chanted  word. 

Two  young,  fresh  hearts,  with  a  goodly  sum 

Of  Innocence'  saving  leaven, 
Like  such,  it  is  said,  ours  must  become 

Before  we  can  enter  heaven. 

They  heard  in  silence,  with  face  upturned, 

And  tremulous,  deep  surprise, 
And  all  the  fire  of  the  music  burned 

Within  their  youthful  eyes. 

There  crept  to  the  old  man's  eyes  a  mist; 

And  down  the  pulpit  stair 
He  gently  came,  and  tenderly  kissed 

The  children  lingering  there ; 

And  o'er  their  shoulders  his  arms  he  threw, 

This  king  with  the  crown  of  gray ; 
And  finally,  like  three  comrades  true, 

Together  they  walked  away. 

And  two  went  out  in  the  winter  night, 

Their  earth-toil  just  begun ; 
The  other,  forth  to  eternal  light — 

His  work  for  the  planet  done. 


90  CITY    LEGENDS 

SCENE  III.,  the  same  ;  it  has  been  growing  dark,  and  it  is  near 
ly  time  to  go  home.  The  remainder  of  the  afternoon  has 
passed  in  recitations,  songs,  and  speeches,  and  all  seem,  upon 
the  whole,  to  have  had  a  good  time. 

Deacon  KINDMAN. 

And  now  let's  be  reminded  that  though  Misfortune's 
hand 

Has  reached  us  all  for  reasons  that  God  can  under 
stand, 

While  we,  short-sighted  creatures,  shrink  murmuring 
from  its  touch, 

Yet  there  are  those  who  suffer  a  thousand  times  as 
much. 

[Enter  an  elocutionist,  dressed  as  a  tramp.  His 
face  has  a  lonely,  haggard  look ;  his  eyes 
are  cast  downward,  with  occasional  furtive 
glances  at  those  before  him  ;  his  look  of  grim 
distress  is  assumed  so  naturally  that  some  of 
the  company  think  at  first  that  he  is  a  real 
tramp.  He  recites  : 


THE  CONVICT  S   CHRISTMAS  EVE 

The  term  was  done ;  my  penalty  was  past ; 

I  saw  the  outside  of  the  walls  at  last. 

When  I  left  that  stone  punishment  of  sin, 

'Twas  'most  as  hard  as  when  I  first  went  in. 

It  seemed  at  once  as  though  the  sweet-voiced  air 

Told  slanderous  tales  about  me  everywhere ; 


THIRD    CHAIN  9! 

As  if  the  ground  itself  was  shrinking  back 

For  fear  'twould  get  the  Cain's  mark  of  my  track. 

Women  would  edge  away,  with  shrewd  she-guesses, 

As  if  my  very  glance  would  spoil  their  dresses ; 

Men  looked  me  over  with  close,  careless  gaze, 

And  understood  my  downcast,  jail-bird  ways ; 

My  hands  were  so  grime-hardened  and  defiled, 

I  wouldn't  have  had  the  cheek  to  pet  a  child ; 

If  I  had  spoken  to  a  dog  that  day, 

He  would  have  tipped  his  nose  and  walked  away. 

And  so  I  wandered  in  a  jail  of  doubt, 

Whence  neither  heaven  nor  earth  would  let  me  out; 

The  world  itself  seemed  to  me  every  bit 

As  hard  a  prison  as  the  one  I'd  quit. 

If  you  are  made  of  anything  but  dirt, 
If  you've  a  soul  that  other  souls  can  hurt, 
Turn  to  the  right  henceforth,  whoever  passes : 
It's  death  to  drop  among  the  lawless  classes ! 
Men  lose  who  lose  the  friendship  of  the  law, , 
A  blessing  from  each  breath  of  air  they  draw ; 
They  know  th'  advantage  of  a  good  clean  face, 
When  theirs  has  been  disfigured  by  disgrace! 

So  I  trudged  round,  appropriately  slow 

For  one  with  no  particular  place  to  go; 

The  houses  scowled  and  stared  as  if  to  say, 

"  You  jail-bird,  we  are  honest ;  walk  away  !" 

The  factories  seemed  to  scream,  when  I  came  near, 

"  Stand  back !  unsentenced  men  are  working  here  !" 


92  CITY   LEGENDS 

And  virtue  had  th'  appearance,  all  the  time, 
Of  trying  hard  to  push  me  back  to  crime. 

It  struck  me  strange,  that  stormy,  snow-bleached  day, 
To  watch  the  different  people  on  the  way, 
All  carrying  parcels,  of  all  sorts  of  sizes, 
As  carefully  as  gold  and  silver  prizes. 
Well-dressed  or  poor— I  could  not  understand 
Why  each  one  hugged  a  bundle  in  his  hand. 
I  asked  an  old  policeman  what  it  meant : 
He  looked  me  over,  with  eyes  shrewdly  bent, 
While  muttering,  in  a  voice  that  fairly  froze, 
"It's  'cause  to-morrow's  Christmas,  I  suppose." 
And  then  the  fact  came  crashing  over  me, 
How  horribly  alone  a  man  can  be ! 

I  don't  pretend  what  tortures  yet  may  wait 

For  souls  that  have  not  run  their  reckonings  straight ; 

It  isn't  for  mortal  ignorance  to  say 

What  kind  of  night  may  follow  any  day ; 

There  may  be  pain  for  sin  some  time  found  out, 

That  sin  on  earth  knows  nothing  yet  about  ; 

But  I  don't  think  there's  any  harbor  known 

Worse  for  a  wrecked  soul  than  to  be  alone. 

Alone  !— there,  maybe,  never  has  occurred 

A  word  whose  gloom  is  gloomier  than  that  word ! 

You  who  can  brighten  up  your  Christmas  joys 
With  all  affection's  small  but  mighty  toys, 
Who  fancy  that  your  gifts  of  love  be  rash, 
And  presents  are  not  worth  their  price  in  cash, 


THIRD  CHAIN  93 

Thank  God,  with  love  and  thrift  no  more  at  war, 
That  you've  some  one  to  spend  your  money  for ! 
A  dollar  plays  a  very  dingy  part 
Till  magnetized  by  some  one's  grateful  heart. 

So  evening  saw  me  straggling  up  and  down 

Within  the  gayly  lighted,  desolate  town, 

A  hungry,  sad-heart  hermit  all  the  while, 

My  rough  face  begging  for  a  friendly  smile. 

Folks  talked  with  folks,  in  new-made  warmth  and  glee, 

But  no  one  had  a  word  or  look  for  me ; 

Love  flowed  like  water,  but  it  could  not  make 

The  world  forgive  me  for  my  one  mistake ! 

An  open  church  some  look  of  welcome  wore ; 
I  crept  in  soft,  and  sat  down  near  the  door. 
I'd  never  seen,  'mongst  my  unhappy  race, 
So  many  happy  children  in  one  place ; 
I  never  knew  how  much  a  hymn  could  bring 
From  heaven,  until  I  heard  those  children  sing; 
I  never  saw  such  sweet-breathed  gales  of  glee, 
As  swept  around  that  fruitful  Christmas  tree ! 

You  who  have  tripped  through  childhood's  merry  days 
With  passionate  love  protecting  all  your  ways, 
Who  did  not  see  a  Christmas-time  go  by 
Without  some  present  for  your  sparkling  eye, 
Thank  God,  whose  goodness  gave  such  joy  its  birth, 
And  scattered  heaven-seeds  in  the  dust  of  earth ! 
In  stone-paved  ground  my  thorny  field  was  set : 
I  never  had  a  Christmas  present  yet. 


94  CITY    LEGENDS 

And  so  I  sat  and  saw  them,  and  confess 
Felt  the  unhappier  for  their  happiness; 
And  when  a  man  gets  into  such  a  state, 
He's  very  proud — or  very  desolate. 

Just  then  a  cry  of  "  Fire !"  amongst  us  came ; 
The  pretty  Christmas  tree  was  all  aflame ! 
And  one  sweet  child  there  in  our  startled  gaze 
Was  screaming,  with  her  white  clothes  all  ablaze ! 

The  crowd  seemed  crazy-like,  both  old  and  young, 
And  very  slow  of  deed,  though  swift  of  tongue. 
But  one  knew  what  to  do,  and  not  to  say, 
And  he  a  convict,  just  let  loose  that  day. 

I  fought  like  one  who  deals  in  deadly  strife : 
I  wrapped  my  life  around  that  child's  sweet  life ; 
I  choked  the  flames  that  choked  her,  with  rich  cloaks 
Stol'n  from  some  good  but  very  frightened  folks ; 
I  gave  the  dear  girl  to  her  parents'  sight, 
Unharmed  by  anything  excepting  fright ; 
I  tore  the  blazing  branches  from  the  tree, 
Till  all  was  safe,  and  no  one  hurt  but  me. 

That  night,  of  which  I  asked  for  sleep  in  vain — 
That  night,  that  tossed  me  round  on  prongs  of  pain, 
That   stabbed   me  with   fierce   tortures   through   and 

through — 

Was  still  the  happiest  that  I  ever  knew. 
I  felt  that  I  at  last  had  earned  a  place 
Among  my  race,  by  suffering  for  my  race ; 


"AN    OPEN   CHURCH    UOOR   SOME   LOOK   OF    WELCOME    WORE*' 


THIRD   CHAIN  95 

I  felt  the  glorious  facts  wouldn't  let  me  miss 
A  mother's  thanks — perhaps  a  child's  sweet  kiss; 
That  man's  warm  gratitude  would  find  a  plan 
To  lift  me  up  and  help  me  be  a  man. 

Next  day  they  brought  a  letter  to  my  bed ; 
I  opened  it  with  tingling  nerves,  and  read : 
"You  have  upon  my  kindness  certain  claims, 
For  rescuing  my  young  child  from  the  flames; 
Such  deeds  deserve  a  hand  unstained  by  crime ; 
I  trust  you  will  reform  while  yet  there's  time. 
The  blackest  sinner  may  find  mercy  still. 
(Enclosed  please  find  a  thousand-dollar  bill.) 
Our  paths  of  course  on  different  roads  must  lie; 
Don't  follow  me  for  any  more.    Good-bye." 

I  scorched  the  dirty  rag  till  it  was  black, 
Enclosed  it  in  a  rag,  and  sent  it  back. 

That  very  night  I  cracked  a  tradesman's  door, 
Stole  with  my  blistered  hands  ten  thousand  more, 
Which  I  next  day  took  special  pains  to  send 
To  my  good,  distant,  wealthy,  high-toned  friend ; 
And  wrote  upon  it  in  a  steady  hand, 
In  words  I  hoped  he  wouldn't  misunderstand, 
"  Money  is  cheap,  as  I  have  shown  you  here, 
But  gratitude  and  sympathy  are  dear. 
These  rags  are  stolen — have  been — may  often  be  : 
I  trust  the  one  wasn't  that  you  sent  to  me. 
Hoping  your  pride  and  you  are  reconciled — 
From  the  black,  sinful  rescuer  of  your  child." 


96  CITY    LEGENDS 

I  crept  to  court — a  crushed,  triumphant  worm- 
Confessed  the  theft,  and  took  another  term. 

My  life  closed,  and  began ;  and  I  went  back 
Among  the  rogues  that  walk  the  broad-gauged  track. 
I  prowl  'mid  every  sort  of  sin  that's  known  ; 
I  walk  rough  roads — but  do  not  walk  alone. 

[Company  take  leave  of  their  host,  and  disperse, 
cheerfully  but  thoughtfully,  with  the  con 
sciousness  of  having  had  a  splendid  time,  but 
with  pity  in  their  hearts  for  those  who  are 
more  miserable  than  Poverty  or  Wealth  could 
possibly  make  them. 


FOURTH   CHAIN 


ffourtb  Gbatn 


IN  the  last  quarter  of  this  century — 
This  grand,  electric-lighted  century — 
This  steam-propelled,  far-speaking  century — 
That  called  the  idle  vapors  to  their  work, 
Made  giants  of  them,  gave  them  arms  of  steel, 
And  made  them  toil  ere  to  their  sport  returned — 
That  caught  the  fire-fly  lightnings  on  the  wing, 
And  caged  them  into  lamps  that  kill  the  dark — 
Century  that  confirms  the  "Arabian  Nights" — 
Century  with  the  blossom  and  the  fruit 
Of  eons  that  have  grown  through  tears  and  blood- 
Century  to  be  quoted  as  that  one 
Wherein  Man  first  declared  by  deed  that  he 
Was  emperor  of  all  the  elements ; 
This  quick-nerved,  high-strung  nineteenth  century, 
That  found  new  hideous  ways  for  War  to  use 
In  killing,  and  thus  made  Peace  fashionable; 
This  century  that  soon,  with  toll  of  bell, 
And  trumpet-peal,  and  boom  of  brazen  gun, 
And  shouts  of  men,  half  joyful  and  half  sad, 
Shall  close  its  clanging  gate  for  evermore — 


100  CITY   LEGENDS 

It  is  not  strange  that  we  should  wonder  oft 
What  legends  maybe  will  be  told  of  us 
In  the  long,  silent  century  next  to  come. 

In  the  new,  waiting  years  so  soon  to  come — 

When  boys  that  now  sport  laughing  in  the  streets 

Shall  be  grave  grandsires,  wondering  at  the  glee 

Of  frivolous  boys,  and  sharing  dividends 

With  their  grim,  silent  partner — Rheumatism  ; 

When  tiny  girls,  now  perching  on  our  knees, 

Become  old  ladies,  dignified  and  prim ; 

When  "  Eighteen  hundred  "  shall  a  memory  be, 

And  "Nineteen  hundred  "sound  like  old  friends' names — 

Perchance  the  children  may  some  legends  hear 

Of  this  last  quarter  of  this  century. 

Tell  them  of  Grant's  too-soon  pathetic  death. 

How  the  old  chief  so  silently  encamped 

In  the  King-city — two  long,  mournful  days — 

And  the  weird,  mournful  nights  that  flitted  round ; 

How  past  his  solemn  bed  sad  thousands  marched 

To  see  him,  ere  the  coverlid  was  drawn 

O'er  his  pale  face  forever ;  how  at  last 

His  great  black  hearse  crept  up  the  broad  highway 

'Twixt  marble  palaces  thick  cloaked  in  crape, 

And  crowded  close  with  hushed  and  bowing  forms ; 

How  clans  that  late  had  sought  each  other's  blood 

Now  arm  in  arm  marched  with  the  conqueror; 

And  how  the  requiem  guns  that  greeted  him 

At  his  half-made  but  some  day  gorgeous  tent 

Shook  not  the  city  more  than  did  its  grief. 


FOURTH   CHAIN  IOI 


Tell  this  to  them — although  may  be  forgotten 
Amid  the  century's  whirl — this  funeral  song: 


THE  CAPTAIN  IS  ASLEEP 

Let  the  muffled  drums  mourn 

Heavy  and  deep, 
And  flags  with  crape  be  borne : 

The  Captain  is  asleep. 
On  a  hushed  and  solemn  bed, 

Alone  he  lies. 

Tender  words  of  him  are  said, 
There  are  waiting  for  his  hands 
Love  bouquets  from  many  lands; 
But  he  will  not  rise. 

Never  in  his  childhood  days 

Such  slumber  came ; 
Nor  ere  war's  electric  blaze 

Streamed  o'er  his  name, 
When,  through  eyes  with  watching  dim, 
His  young  mother  bent  o'er  him, 
Wreathing  hopes  upon  his  brow, 
Did  he  sleep  so  well  as  now. 

Let  the  silver  horns  trail 

Anthems  that  weep; 
Let  them  voice  the  early  tale 

Of  the  Captain  asleep; 


102  CITY   LEGENDS 

Tell  the  struggles  that  he  knew 
Ere  his  life-work  stood  in  view, 
And  the  clouds  that  vexed  his  eyes 
Ere  his  star  flashed  through  the  skies. 

Men,  you  must  his  mourners  be, 

For  he  was  brave ; 
Harvester  of  courage,  he 

Knew  when  to  save; 
Cruel  as  the  tiger's  fang 

Until  war  was  done, 
He  would  soothe  the  smallest  pang 

When  the  strife  was  won. 
Only  death  could  conquer  him, 
And  his  fight  with  that  was  grim. 
As  in  his  best  days  of  pride, 
Hero  to  the  last  he  died. 

Women,  holy  in  his  eyes 
Was  the  pureness  that  you  prize ; 
Palaces  round  him  had  smiled, 
Kingly  shows  his  days  beguiled ; 
But  he  loved  and  sought  release, 

Turned  from  lofty  spire  and  dome, 
Came  for  comfort  and  for  peace 

To  the  fireside  of  his  home. 

Fame,  you  have  done  your  best 
For  the  Warrior  of  the  West, 
Who,  with  grand,  heroic  rush, 
Reached  your  regions  at  a  leap. 


'TENDER   WORDS   OF    HIM    ARE    SAID" 


FOURTH    CHAIN  103 

Sound  his  praise  again  ! — but  hush  ! 

The  Captain  is  asleep. 
Slumbering  early;  but  'tis  best 
That  the  weary  man  should  rest. 
He  has  had  the  care  and  strife, 
Ten  times  over,  of  a  life. 

Grief,  you  came  when  Rest 

Should  have  thrown  her  spell — 
You  were  of  rare  barbs  possessed— 

Oh,  you  pierced  him  well ! 
It  is  brave  to  fall  and  die 

With  an  arrow  in  the  heart ; 
It  is  noble,  great,  and  high 

To  live  and  bear  its  smart. 
Sound  so  grand  was  never  heard 
As  is  pain  without  a  word. 

Let  the  drums  cease  to  mourn, 

Let  the  clouds  break, 
Let  the  badge  of  grief  be  torn, 

The  Captain  is  awake  ! 
Warriors  brave  in  yonder  land, 

Who  once  lingered  here, 
Grasp  our  Chieftain  by  the  hand, 

Give  him  friendly  cheer! 

ii 

Or  tell  them  of  the  fair  ambassadress 

That  France— hot-veined  republic  of  the  East — 


104  CITY    LEGENDS 

Sent  to  her  sister  of  the  Western  waves 
Bearing  the  magic  torch  of  liberty : 
France — she  who  with  her  aid  long  years  ago 
Gave  us  the  eagle — type  of  Victory : 


THE  VESTAL 

Into  the  bay — the  great,  wide,  wealth-fringed  bay, 

Whose  every  tide  sweeps  hamlets  to  our  shores — 
Where  king-slaves  have  their  fetters  struck  away — 
Whence  can  be  read,  on  the  new  nation's  doors, 
"  Leave  hopelessness  behind,  who  enters  here  !" 
Harbor  of  hope  ! — invaded,  without  fear, 
By  ships  of  labor,  sailed  from  rotting  ports, 
And  toil  whose  plumage  had  been  stol'n  by  courts — 
Into  that  bay,  a  virgin-guest  comes  nigh, 
And  holds  her  lamp  unto  the  star-gemmed  sky. 

They  sent  her  from  that  empire  of  the  East 

Whose  "  king "  hath  dynasty  the  same  as  ours ; 
From  the  rich  harvest  and  the  vineyard- feast, 

From  glistening  domes  and  ivy-mantled  towers. 
Peasants  have  toiled,  throughout  the  sultry  day, 
The  tributes  of  her  ocean-march  to  pay ; 
The  artisan  has  wrought,  that  she  might  rise 
And  smile  into  his  Western  brother's  eyes  ; 
The  thought-smith — he  with  busy  heart  and  brain — 
Helped  feed  her  torch  that  gleams  across  the  main.* 

*  Nearly  all  classes  of  the  French  people  contributed  towards 
the  cost  of  sending  us  Bartholdi's  Statue  of  Liberty. 


FOURTH    CHAIN  IO$ 

She  brings  to  us  a  century  that  is  past, 

The  legend  of  a  gift  of  long  agone, 
A  favor  that  like  diamonds  shall  last, 

And  gleam  but  brighter  as  the  years  gloom  on. 
They  gave  us  gold  when  recompense  was  doubt — 
Perish  the  greed  that  blots  that  memory  out ! 
They  gave  us  hope,  when  our  own  star  had  set — 
May  the  brain  soften  that  would  shun  the  debt ! 
They  gave  us  heroes,  with  a  fame  as  bright 
As  mountain  watch-fires  on  a  winter's  night. 

Stand,  Vestal,  with  thy  virgin  flame  e'er  clear, 
And  guard  our  future  pilgrims  to  their  rest 
In  the  great  city,  where,  year  after  year, 

Their  march  shall  feed  our  never-failing  West. 
Tell  those  who  hated  greed,  and  hurried  thence, 
That  honest  toil  hath  here  a  recompense ; 
Say  to  the  lawless — whosoe'er  they  be — 
That  men  must  live  obedient  to  live  free ; 
And  sing  for  us,  o'er  the  blue  waves'  expanse, 
"  With  all  our  faults  and  thine,  we  love  thee,  France !" 


in 

Or  tell  them  of  the  years  when  our  long  coast 

Lay  prosperous,  but  defenceless ;  all  that  while 

That  other  nations  blotted  the  free  sky 

With  the  black  plumage  of  their  war-ships'  smoke ; 

And  our  Unbuilt  Ship  sang  a  gloomy  song 

And  strove  to  rouse  the  nation's  fear  and  pride:* 

*  Happily,  this  error  on  the  part  of  the  United  States  has  of 


106  CITY  LEGENDS 


SONG  OF  THE  UNBUILT   SHIP 

They  were  making  me  a  king  of  the  sea, 

The  oceans'  pride  and  fear; 
But  ere  I  was  done  the  world  moved  on, 

And  left  me  stranded  here — 
To  the  world's  sharp  eyes  an  enterprise 

That  ere  it  was  tested  failed  ; 
A  ruin  low  that  was  always  so, 

A  wreck  that  has  ne'er  been  sailed. 
I  sit  and  cower  'neath  many  an  hour 

That  drearily  drifts  to  me ; 
But  visions  have  they  from  far  away, 

And  these  are  the  sights  I  see : 

Grim  men  who  toil  at  blades  that  spoil, 

In  populous  far-off  lands ; 
And  murderer-guns  that  Art's  rough  sons 

Mould  hot  in  their  giant  hands; 
Steel  diggers  of  graves,  that  walk  the  waves, 

And  rule  with  their  rude  alarms, 
Or  cripple  and  kill  with  close-eyed  skill, 

And  long,  invisible  arms. 
Oh,  a  wondrous  shower  of  godlike  power 

This  grand  decade  can  boast : 
But  what  if  it  frown  on  shipping  and  town 

Of  a  long,  defenceless  coast  ? 

late  been  partly  remedied,  although  there  is  still  much  to  do  in 
the  matter  of  a  thorough  defence  of  our  coasts. 


FOURTH   CHAIN  107 

For  the  great  star-ships  now  suffer  eclipse 

That  were  from  the  forest  born, 
And  boats  that  have  birth  in  the  mines  of  earth 

Are  laughing  us  all  to  scorn. 
The  nation  that  gave  to  the  watchful  wave 

It's  swift  and  strongest  guest, 
With  triumph  is  done,  and  her  ocean-sun 

Stands  low  in  the  blushing  west. 

0  world  just  made,  your  grandeur  is  weighed, 
Your  treasuries  all  men  know; 

But  why  should  you  seek  a  wealth  too  weak 
To  guard  you  against  a  foe  ? 

You  may  gild  your  domes  and  adorn  your  homes, 

Proud  men  of  the  Rich  New  Land ; 
But  what  are  they  worth  when  half  the  earth 

Be  fired  by  a  war's  red  brand  ? 
The  watchmen  sleep  of  the  banks  that  keep 

A  continent's  wealth  in  store : 
Say,  where  are  your  locks  when  an  enemy  knocks 

With  clinched  hand  at  the  door? 
Your  daughters  and  wives,  whose  winsome  lives 

Make  every  land  more  fair — 
What  have  you,  then,  O  thoughtless  men, 

To  guard  them  from  despair? 

1  see  bright  gold  into  tablets  rolled; 
I  see  iron  leagues  of  ore : 

Rouse  up  with  a  zeal  for  the  nation's  weal, 
And  carry  them  to  the  shore! 


108  CITY    LEGENDS 

The  power  to  defend  holds  many  a  friend  ; 

Force  oft  shows  clear  the  right ; 
The  surest  lease  of  comfort  and  peace 

Is  a  sturdy  strength  to  fight. 
Let  walls  of  iron  your  treasurers  environ, 

As  well  as  of  heart  and  brain  ; 
Shun  heedless  guilt ;  and  the  ship  unbuilt 

May  not  have  sung  in  vain. 


IV 


Or  tell  them  of  the  hideous,  creeping  beast, 
That  trailed  its  slime  along  our  grandest  walks, 
That  named  a  million  kings  Laocoon, 
That  twined  around  the  fairest  and  the  best, 
And  crushed  them  in  its  anaconda-coils; 
That  crept  into  our  homes,  and  not  content 
With  driving  mortals  from  their  Paradise, 
Would  make  even  that  a  hell. 


THE  SERPENT  OF  THE  STILL 

The  tempter,  as  God's  legends  tell — 

Allowed  on  earth  to  roam — 
Crushed  that  which  Woman  loves  so  well, 

Her  sweet  and  sacred  home. 
From  Eden,  lost  through  his  black  art, 

She  wandered  out  forlorn ; 
She  cursed  him  in  her  gentle  heart 

With  meek  but  deadly  scorn. 


FOURTH   CHAIN  109 

And  since,  in  varied  guise  of  sin, 

He  works  his  hateful  will, 
And  reappears  to-day  within 

The  serpent  of  the  still. 

He  comes  not  now  in  subtle  mood — 

With  smiles,  as  long  ago — 
Enticing  her  by  honeyed  food, 

And  mysteries  she  may  know; 
He  makes  insulting,  swift  advance 

Into  her  bright  home-nest, 
Admitted  and  embraced,  perchance, 

By  those  she  loves  the  best. 
He  brings  the  world  where  he  must  dwell, 

Her  days  and  nights  to  fill, 
Transmuting  Paradise  to  Hell — 

This  serpent  of  the  still! 

He  twines  about  her  trembling  life, 

And  soils  it  with  his  slime ; 
He  fills  the  hours  with  foolish  strife, 

He  sows  the  seeds  of  crime. 
And  Poverty  and  fierce  Disease, 

And  Hunger  and  Disgrace, 
And  Death  by  death-empanged  degrees, 

Are  in  his  cold  embrac 
To  grieve,  to  hurt,  to  rend,  to  smite, 

To  ruin  and  to  kill, 
Are  leaden  links  of  his  delight — 

The  serpent  of  the  still ! 


HO  CITY   LEGENDS 

Rouse,  woman,  in  your  quiet  power, 

Your  heart's  man-withering  frown, 
Your  hand  that  rules  the  festal  hour, 

And  crush  the  monster  down ! 
You  shape  the  human  form  and  soul, 

You  mark  the  infant's  way, 
Youth's  fancy  you  can  oft  control, 

Man's  action  you  can  sway : 
Bend  every  blessing  of  your  life 

To  fight  its  deadliest  ill ! 
Strike — daughter,  maiden,  widow,  wife — 

This  serpent  of  the  still! 


HE   TWINES   ABOUT    HER   TREMBLING   LIFE 


FIFTH    CHAIN 


Jffftb  Cbain 

SCENE,  a  club-room.  Enter  two  decayed  poets,  with  several  man 
uscripts  which  have  been  submitted  to  them  for  consideration. 
They  seat  themselves  solemnly  at  a  table,  and  proceed  to  open 
court. 

SMYTHERRES  (one  of  the  decayed  poets). 
My  colleague  in  poetic  emperorhood, 

I  deem  it  best  that  we  discourse  in  rhyme; 

In  the  set  sonnet  of  the  olden  time ; 
Miltonic  sonnet ;  for  'tis  well  and  good, 
That  we,  who  might  surpass  him  if  we  would 

(Our  predecessors  o'er  him  used  to  climb), 

Should  let  our  strains  his  modest  voice  o'er-chime ; 
Though  we  ourselves  are  still  misunderstood, 
Excepting  by  ourselves  and  by  each  other, 

And  people  will  not  read  the  things  we  write, 
Unless  we  ask  them  to — a  precious  bother! — 

Yet  we  in  criticism  can  vent  some  spite, 
And  rivals'  praises  with  our  venom  smother. 

So  ope  these  efforts  to  our  suffering  sight. 

JOHNNES  (the  other  decayed  poet). 
That  we  discourse  in  sonnets,  I  consent ; 

Though  from  myself,  dear  brother,  please  to  ask 
Shakespearian  rhyme. — So  I  have  precedent, 

My  style  is  proper. — Let  us  to  the  task. 

8  113 


114  CITY  LEGENDS 

Of  manuscripts  this  package  doth  consist, 

Which  we  must  now  examine,  and  decide 
Whether  they  have  our  license  to  exist, 

Or  whether  they  in  failure  must  abide. 
Ah  me ! — a  great  responsibility 

It  is,  to  say  what  shall  and  shall  not  live 
In  literature  and  art — especially, 

When  some  survive,  for  all  the  pains  we  give. 
Draw  forth  the  first  presumer  that  doth  wait, 
And  let  us  seal  the  verdict  of  his  fate. 

SMYTHERRES  {opening  a  package). 
I  know  not  whether  it  were  best  to  give 

These  lines  within  our  time  and  thought  a  place ; 

They  discourse  of  a  non-poetic  race ; 
Who,  though  of  course  we  must  permit  to  live, 
Are  mostly  ignorant  and  primitive ; 

Therefore  the  title  shows,  upon  its  face, 

An  utter  lack  of  true  poetic  grace. 
But  let  us  shake  it  in  our  critic-sieve ; 
For  some  opinion  must  be  rendered 

On  all  the  manuscripts  we  are  receiving, 
And  we  have  been  accused  oft-times,  'tis  said, 

Of  thoughtless,  half-malicious  judgment  giving; 
Therefore  these  lines  shall  every  word  be  read 

(Besides,  too,  that's  the  way  we  make  our  living). 

Reads  : 


FIFTH    CHAIN  115 

THE  NEGRO  FUNERAL 

I  was  walking  in  Savannah,  past  a  church  decayed  and 
dim, 

When  there  slowly  through  the  window  came  a  plain 
tive  funeral  hymn  ; 

And  a  sympathy  awakened,  and  a  wonder  quickly  grew, 

Till  I  found  myself  environed  in  a  little  negro  pew. 

Out  at  front  a  colored  couple  sat  in  sorrow  nearly  wild ; 

On  the  altar  was  a  coffin,  in  the  coffin  was  a  child. 

I  could  picture  him  when  living — curly  hair,  protrud 
ing  lip— 

And  had  seen  perhaps  a  thousand  in  my  hurried 
Southern  trip. 

But  no  baby  ever  rested  in  the  soothing  arms  of  Death 
That  had  fanned  more  flames  of  sorrow  with  his  little 

fluttering  breath ; 
And   no   funeral  ever  glistened   with   more  sympathy 

profound 
Than  was  in  the  chain  of  tear-drops  that  enclasped 

those  mourners  round. 

Rose  a  sad  old  colored  preacher  at  the  little  wooden 

desk — 
With  a  manner  grandly  awkward,  with  a  countenance 

grotesque ; 

With  simplicity  and  shrewdness  on  his  Ethiopian  face ; 
With  the  ignorance  and  wisdom  of  a  crushed,  undying 

race. 


Il6  CITY   LEGENDS 

And  he  said  :  "  Now  don'  be  weepin'  for  dis  pretty  bit 

o'  clay — 
For  de  little  boy  who  lived  dere,  he  done  gone  an'  run 

away ! 

He  was  doin'  very  fine  here,  an*  he  'predate  your  love; 
But  his  sure  'nuff  Father  want  him  in  de  large  house 

up  above. 

"  Now  he  didn'  give  you  dat  baby,  by  a  hundred  thou- 

san'  mile ! 
He  just  think  you  need  some  sunshine,  an'  He  lend  it 

for  a  while ! 
An'  He  let  you  keep  an'  love  it,  till  your  hearts  was 

bigger  grown  ; 
An'  dese  silver  tears  you're  sheddin's  jest  de  interest 

on  de  loan. 

"Here  yer  oder  pretty  chilrun !  —  don't  be  makin'  it 
appear 

Dat  your  love  got  sort  o'  'nop'lized  by  dis  little  fel 
low  here; 

Don'  pile  up  too  much  your  sorrow  on  deir  little  men 
tal  shelves, 

So's  to  kind  o'  set  'em  wonderin'  if  dey're  no  account 
demselves ! 


"  Just  you  think,  you  poor  deah  mounahs,  creepin'  long 
o'er  Sorrow's  way, 

What  a  blessed  little  picnic  dis  yere  baby's  got  to 
day! 


AN'    HE    SAID,   '  NOW    DON*    BE    WEEPIN*    FOR    DIS    PRETTY 

BIT  o'  CLAY'" 


FIFTH    CHAIN  117 

His  gran'faders  an'  gran'moders  crowd  de  little  fellow 

round 
In    de   angel -tended    garden    of    de    Big    Plantation 

Ground. 

"An'  dey  ask  him,  'Was  your  feet  sore?'  an'  take  off 

his  little  shoes, 
An'  dey  wash  him,  an'  dey  kiss  him,  an'  dey  say,  '  Now 

what's  de  news?' 
An'  de  Lawd  done  cut  his  tongue  loose ;  den  de  little 

fellow  say, 
'  All  our  folks  down  in  de  valley  tries  to  keep  de  heb- 

benly  way.' 

"  An'  his  eyes  dey  brightly  sparkle  at  de  pretty  things 

he  view ; 
Den  a  tear  come,  an'  he  whisper,  '  But   I   wan't  my 

paryents,  too !' 
But  de  Angel  Chief  Musician  teach  dat   boy  a  little 

song: 
Says,  '  If  only  dey  be  fait'ful  dey  will  soon  be  comin' 

'long.' 

"An'  he'll  get  an  education  dat  will  proberbly  be 
worth 

Seberal  times  as  much  as  any  you  could  buy  for  him 
on  earth  ; 

He'll  be  in  de  Lawd's  big  school-house,  widout  no  con 
tempt  or  fear; 

While  dere's  no  end  to  de  bad  t'ings  might  have  hap 
pened  to  him  here. 


Il8  CITY    LEGENDS 

"  So,  my  pooah  dejected  mounahs,  let  your  hearts  wid 

Jesus  rest, 
An'  don'  go  to  critercisin'  dat  ar  One  w'at  knows  de 

best! 
He  have  sent  us  many  comforts  —  has  a  right  to  take 

away — 
To  de  Lawd  be  praise  an'  glory  now  and  ever! — Let 

us  pray." 


JOHNNES. 

What  horrid  taste !  what  disregard  of  rules ! 

To  pick  up  such  a  story  as  this  one, 
And  voice  it !  where  are  our  poetic  schools, 

When  such  absurd  things  can  be  safely  done  ? 
The  proper  subjects  for  poetic  flights, 

Are  clouds,  stars,  skies,  courts,  tournaments,  and  kings, 
And  sickly  love-tales. — We  must  set  to  rights 

A  state  of  things  which  tolerates  such  things. 
Let's  give  that  author  such  a  verbal  basting 

That  he  will  never  dare  again  to  show 
His  head  in  printed  letters,  after  tasting 

The  cup  of  our  acidulated  woe. 
To  think  that  pen  and  type  should  be  defiled 
Upon  the  funeral  of  a  negro  child ! 

SMYTHERRES. 

And  dialect — foe  to  poetic  speech — 
Appears  here,  in  this  undeserving  verse, 
And  if  'twere  possible,  would  make  it  worse. 
Its  growing  prevalence  mankind  should  teach, 
That  when  an  author  downward  thus  doth  reach, 


FIFTH    CHAIN  lig 

He  should  incur  the  critic's  hottest  curse — 

His  Pegasus  being  harnessed  to  his  hearse; 
And  though  the  lines  of  some  good  writers  preach 
That  th'  exact  language  men  and  women  use 

Is  proper,  when  their  ideas  you're  expressing, 
Yet  'tis  what  we  prefer  to  have  our  views, 

That  dialect  is  an  improper  dressing. 
Shakespeare,  Burns,  Dante,  Homer,  if  you  choose— 

Had  lapses  of  the  same — but  'twas  distressing ! 

[Sighs  deeply,  opens  another  manuscript,  and 
reads  : 

THE  FOUR  TRAVELLERS 

They  were  telling  their  experience — just  a  small  band 
of  that  race 

Whose  religion  oft  illumines  e'en  the  darkness  of  the 
face; 

Whose  true  fancy  passes  limits  that  cold  reason  can 
not  reach ; 

Whose  expressions  are  more  accurate  for  the  rude 
ness  of  their  speech. 

And  they  drew  their  illustrations  —  not  from  ancient 
lore  profound — 

But  from  nineteenth  -  century  wonders,  that  are  scat 
tered  all  around. 

And  one  said :  "  I'm  goin'  to  hebben  in  de  rowboat  ob 

God's  grace ; 
An'  I'm  pullin'  mighty  lively,  for  to  win  de  hebbenly 

race." 


I2O  CITY   LEGENDS 

But  the  leader  said :  "  Be  keerful ;  for  de  arm  ob  flesh 

may  fail, 
An*  de  oars  may  break — or  danger  may  come  ridin'  on 

de  gale ; 
An'  be  sure  you  make  dat  boat  large ;  for  no  Christian 

ken  affo'd 
To    say   '  No '  to    any  helpah  who    desires    to    step 

abo'd." 

And  one  said :   "I'm  goin'  to  hebben  in  de  sailboat 

ob  de  word ; 
An'  my  faith  it  stitched  de  canvas,  an'  my  breeze  is 

from  de  Lord ; 
An'  my  craft  it  foam  de  watahs,  as  I  speed  upon  my 

way, 
Till  it  seems  like  I  was  makin'  'bout  a  hundr'd  miles 

a  day." 
But  the  leader  said  :  "  Be  watchful ;  work  an*  struggle 

more  an'  more ; 
Look  for  lots  o'  calms  a-comin' — look  for  breakers  on 

de  shore!" 

And  one  rose  and  said :  "  I'm  trabellin'  in  de  steamboat 

of  God's  power, 
An'  it  seems  like  I  was  makin'  'bout  a  hundred  knots 

an  hour! 
An'  my  berth  is  all  done  paid  for — an'  my  d'rection  all 

is  known, 
Till  our  gospel  steamer  whistles  for  her  landin'  neaf 

de  throne!" 


FIFTH    CHAIN  121 

And  the  leader  said :  "  Be  earnest ;  you  jus'  watch,  an* 

toil,  an'  pray, 
Les'  yer  engine  bu'st  its  boiler,  an'  you  shipwreck  on 

de  way." 

Then  a  poor  old  woman  rose  up  —  bent  and  haggard, 

worn  and  weak — 
And  she  leaned  upon  her  crutches,  and  her  tongue  was 

slow  to  speak; 
And  she  said :  "  I  up  an'  started  moah  dan  fifty  yeahs 

ago- 
Started  off  afoot  for  hebben  —  an'  de  journey's  mighty 

slow! 

Dere  was  streams  dat  had  no  bridges — dere  was  stone- 
hills  for  to  climb — 

Dere  was  swamps  an'  stubs  an'  briers  waitin'  for  me  all 
de  time ; 

"  Dere  was  clouds  ob  persecution,  full  ob  thunder  an* 

cold  rain — 
Dere  was  any  'mount  ob  wanderin',  dere  was  woes    I 

couldn't  explain ; 
Dere  was  folks  dat  'fore  I  asked  'em,  my  poor  waverin' 

footsteps  showed 
Into  country  dat  was  pleasant,  but  dat  didn't  contain 

de  Road ; 
But  de  Lawd,  he  fin'lly  tol'  me,  when   I'm   boun'  to 

have  de  way, 
An'  I  think  perhaps  I'm  makin'  maybe  half  a  mile  a 

day." 


122  CITY  LEGENDS 

Then  the  leader  said :  "  Dere's  nothin'  'gainst  de  rapid 

transit  plan- 
Jus'  you  get  to  hebben,  my  bredren,  any  honest  way 

you  can ! 
If  you  folks  kin  sail  to  glory,  I  don'  know  but  dat's 

all  right! 

But  I  cannot  help  believin'  —  if  we  all  should  die  to 
night — 
When  you  boatmen  land  in  Canaan,  wid  some  narrow 

'scapes  to  tell, 

You'd  fin'  dat  ol'  sister  waitin',  wid  her  feet  all  washed 
an'  well !" 


JOHNNES. 
Ignorant  rhymester !  delver  'mongst  the  clods ! 

Why  should  he  choose  such  undeserving  themes  ? 
Why  can't  he  take  stars,  angels,  demons,  gods, 

And  other  subjects  fit  for  poets'  dreams? 
Why  doesn't  he  hint  what  cannot  be  expressed  ? 

Why  doesn't  he  aim  at  what  he  ne'er  can  see? 
Yearn  for  what  wouldn't  be  known  if  'twere  possessed — 

Aspire  to  what  he  knows  can  never  be  ? 
Or  why  not  write  as  you  do  ? — rake  the  past 

For  fancies  that  in  others'  minds  have  grown — 
See  that  they  are  in  proper  measure  cast — 

Then  cheerfully  exploit  them  as  his  own  ? 

SMYTHERRES  (angrily). 
You  are  a  thief  yourself! 

JOHNNES. 

A  robber,  you ! 


FIFTH  CHAIN  123 

SMYTHERRES. 
Knave ! 
JOHNNES. 

Plagiarist ! 
SMYTHERRES. 

Emasculated  shrew! 

[They  pummel  each  other  rhythmically,  with  the 
remaining  manuscripts.  One  of  them  *  flies 
open,  and  reveals  still  another  dialect  poem, 
upon  still  another  humble  subject.  This  ad 
ditional  calamity  unnerves  them,  and  they 
fall  into  each  other's  arms,  sobbing  poetically. 
They  read  together  in  silence,  as  follows  : 


THE   EARTHQUAKE-PRAYER 

Twas  a  night  of  dread  in  Charleston,  and  the  air  was 
thick  with  fear; 

Never  yet  had  such  a  terror  dropped  its  raven  mantle 
here; 

Never  yet  had  deathly  sorrow  had  so  strange  and  sud 
den  birth, 

As  upon  the  visitation  of  this  tempest  of  the  earth. 

For  the  startled  ground  was  surging  as  the  waves  of 

stormy  seas, 
And  the  belfries  of  the  churches  fell  like  stricken  forest 

trees ; 

*  The  manuscripts. 


124  CITY    LEGENDS 

And  the  walls  that  long  had  lorded  over  seen  and  un 
seen  foe, 

Covered  thick  with  costly  ruins  this  tornado  from 
below ! 

There  were  some  who  prayed  God's  presence  who  to 
God  had  long  been  near  ; 

There  were  some  for  help  entreating  with  repentance 
born  of  fear; 

There  were  some  who  raved  in  madness  through  the 
long  and  murderous  night  ; 

There  were  corses  calmly  waiting  for  a  mourner's  tear 
ful  sight. 

And  that  dark  race  whose  religion  has  a  superstitious 

trend, 
But  whose  superstition  clambers  towards  an  everlasting 

Friend, 
They  were  shouting  in  their  frenzy,  or  in  terror  meekly 

dumb; 
For  they  thought  the  opening  signal  of  the  Judgment 

Day  had  come. 

But  there  sudden  rose  among  them  one  of  earth's  un 
tutored  kings, 

One  of  those  unlooked-for  leaders  whom  an  hour  of 
danger  brings ; 

And  he  prayed  —  as  souls  do  often,  full  of  sympathy 
and  love — 

Partly  to  the  souls  around  him,  partly  to  the  God 
above. 


FIFTH   CHAIN  I2J 

And  he  said:  "I  guess  it's  come,  Lawd — dis  yer  day 
we've  prayed  so  long — 

For  de  symptoms  all  aroun'  here  dey  be  mos'  tre 
mendous  strong; 

But  we  ain't  quite  ready  yet,  Lawd,  neber  min'  how 
well  prepared, 

We  feel  safe  in  Thy  good  mercy,  but  we're  ebberlastin' 
scared  ! 

"  For  You    see  we're   mos'ly  human   when  de   grave 

comes  re'lly  nigh, 
An'  de  spirit  wants  its  freedom,  but  de  flesh  it  hates 

to  die! 
We've   been   teasin'  You   for  hebben  all   de  summer 

long,  I  know ; 
But  we  ain't  in  half  de  hurry  dat  we  was  a  while  ago. 

"When  we  come  to  look  de  facts  through,  in  de  light 

ob  pain  an'  fear, 
Dere  is  holes  in  all  our  armor  dat  at  first  view  didn't 

appear ; 
An'  we'd  like  to  patch  'em  over,  if  it's  all  de  same  to 

You; 

Put  it  off  a  yeah,  for  certain — or  perhaps  You'd  make 
it  two! 

"  Then  we've  got  some  poor  relations  who  may  neber 

see  Thy  face 
If  dey  do   not   earn   de  riches   ob  de  sin  -  destroyin' 

grace ; 


126  CITY    LEGENDS 

Lawd,  protect  dem  wid  Thy  patience,  jus'  de  same-like 

as  before, 
An'  keep  diggin'  roun'  dose  fig-trees  for  anudder  year 

or  more ! 

"  Let  'em  off  a  little  longer !    In  de  light  ob  dis  event, 
Dey  may  recognize   de  season   as   a   fine   one  to  re 
pent  ! 

Dey  will  like  Ye  when  dey  know  Ye,  an'  be  glad  to 
enter  in, 

An'  dere's  some  dat's  awful  good,  Lawd,  ef  it  wasn't 
for  deir  sin ! 

"  Dis  yer  world  has  lots  of  fine  folks,  who  is  anxious, 

I'm  afraid, 
For  to  pick  a  little  longer  'fore  dey  have  deir  baskets 

weighed ; 
An'  dere'd  be  a  large  major'ty  who  would  vote,  it  must 

be  owned, 

For  to  hab  de  world's  big  fun'ral  eberlastin'ly  pos'- 
poned ! 

"  An'  You  know,  O  good  deah  Fathah,  dat  Your  time 
is  all  home-made, 

An'  a  thousan'  years  is  nothin'  in  Your  golden  steel 
yards  weighed ; 

Keep  de  same  ol'  footstool  yet,  Lawd ;  hoi'  it  steady, 
I  implore ! 

It  '11  maybe  suit  You  better  if  You  use  it  jes  once 
more! 


FIFTH   CHAIN  127 

"But  ob  co'se  our  weak-eyed  wisdom's  like  a  rain 
drop  in  de  sea, 

An'  we  ain't  got  any  business  to  be  mendin'  plans  for 
Thee; 

If  it's  time  to  leave  dese  quarters  an'  go  somewhar 
else  to  board, 

Make  de  journey  jes  as  easy  as  your  justice  can  afford  ! 

"An'  we  know  You  hab  a  fondness  for   de   average 

human  soul, 

So  we'll  hab  consid'ble  courage  at  de  callin'  ob  de  roll ; 
You're  our  sure  'nuff  livin'  Fathah  —  You're  our  fa- 

thahs'  God  an'  frien' — 
To  de  Lawd  be  praise  an'  glory,  now  an'  evermore ! 

Amen !" 


'Twas  a  day  of  peace  in  Charleston,  after  many  days 

of  dread, 
And   the  shelterless  were  sheltered,  and  the  hungry 

had  been  fed; 
And  the  death  -  invaded  city  through  its  misery  now 

could  grope, 
And  look  forward  to  a  future  fringed  with  happiness 

and  hope. 

And  those  faithful  dusky  Christians  will  maintain  for 
evermore, 

That  the  fervent  prayers  they  offered  drove  destruc 
tion  from  their  shore; 


128  CITY    LEGENDS 

And  how  much  faith  moves  a  mountain,  or  commands 

a  rock  to  stay, 
Is  unknown  to  earthly  ignorance,  and  for  only  God  to 

say. 


SIXTH  CHAIN 


Sijtb  Cbaln 

SCENE  I. ,  suburbs  of  the  city  of  Quebec,  in  the  early  morning  of 
December  31,  1775.  The  air  is  full  of  falling  snow.  Wind 
•whirls  the  flakes  drearily,  and  piles  them  into  drifts.  A  band 
of  American  soldiers  are  waiting  to  storm  a  barrier  thrown 
across  the  street.  They  have  sustained  a  heroic  march  through 
the  forests  and  mountain  passes  of  Maine  and  Canada  to 
make  this  fight.  Colonel  Benedict  Arnold,  their  leader,  ad 
dresses  them. 

BENEDICT  ARNOLD.* 

Men  of  the  Western  world,  you  stand  before 
The  mighty  throne  of  England;  that  pursues 
It's  conquests  o'er  the  heights  of  ocean  hills, 
And  through  the  depths  of  your  own  forest  waves ; 
That  offers  peace,  if  you  will  but  accept 
Handcuffs  and  shackles  with  it ;  that  perhaps 
May  let  you  live  within  your  wilderness, 
If  you  will  crouch  in  cabins  of  disgrace, 
And  feed  their  foreign  lordships.    You  have  come 

*  The  three  legends  of  this  chain  endeavor  to  exhibit,  in  dra 
matic  form,  the  probable  thoughts  and  feelings  of  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  characters  of  history — under  three  widely  dif 
fering  sets  of  circumstances. 


132  CITY   LEGENDS 

Through  all  the  dangers  Nature  could  invent, 
Through  all  the  suffering  cruelty  could  ask, 
And  fought,  meanwhile,  a  constant,  marching  war, 
With  rocks  and  hills — with  forests  and  with  floods; 
But  all  that  you  thus  far  have  done,  has  been 
The  sowing  of  a  seed,  whose  harvest  now 
Stands  nodding  just  before  you.    Will  you  reap 
This  field  of  glory  ? 

VOICES  (with  a  hoarse  cheer). 

We  will  follow  you 
Through  death,  and  anything  that  lies  beyond! 

ARNOLD. 

Riches  await  you  if  you  win  this  fight, 
Honor  awaits  you  if  you  win  this  fight, 
Glory  awaits  you  if  you  win  this  fight — 

SOLDIER  (aside,  shivering  as  he  grasps  his  snow-covered 

musket). 

I  did  not  leave  my  well-loved  forest  home, 
I  did  not  leave  my  wife  and  mother  weeping, 
I  did  not  leave  my  blue-eyed  baby  sleeping, 
Through  these  vast  forest  solitudes  to  roam. 
For  honor  or  for  glory  or  for  gold. 
In  three  great  words  my  motto  can  be  told : 
God,  Liberty,  and  Right! 

For  these  I  fight. 

ARNOLD  (continuing). 
Now  let  me  say  a  word  to  any  one 
Not  friendly  to  this  contest :  if  one's  here 
Whose  craven  heart  is  still  as  yet  untuned 
To  the  wild  concert-pitch  of  war,  I  say 
Get  out !  go  back !  no  bridges  have  been  burned ; 


"...    WILL   YOU    REAP   THIS   FIELD    OF   GLORY?" 


SIXTH    CHAIN  133 

Safe  hospitals  and  beds  upon  the  way 

Will  take  your  puny,  worthless  bodies  in. 

I  shall  be  at  the  front !    I  cannot  stay 

Behind,  to  spur  a  coward  to  his  duty. 

Go  back — weak  woman  by  all  women  scorned ! 

But  if  there  be  those  here  who  do  not  know 

What  life  means,  without  glory ;  those  whose  hearts 

Find  mountain  air,  even,  poisoned,  when  it  floats 

Above  a  land  disgraced,  come  on  with  me ! 

And  if  you  live,  the  world  shall  crown  you  heroes ; 

And  if  you  die,  though  we've  no  Westminster 

Where  you  can  be  entombed  in  marble,  yet 

Your  names  will  bivouac  in  the  nation's  heart. 

Hoarse  VOICES. 
Give  us  the  word  to  charge! 

ARNOLD.  Now  charge,  and  conquer ! 

{They  fight  their  way  fiercely  through  the  first 
barrier ;  ARNOLD  is  -wounded  and  disabled, 
and  carried  to  the  rear,  his  soldiers  still 
fighting. 

ARNOLD  (as  he  is  borne  bleeding  past  his  soldiers). 
Fight  on,  my  men,  for  glory — riches — fame ! 

SOLDIER  (grasping  more  tightly  his  musket). 
God,  Liberty,  and  Right— direct  my  aim ! 


134  CITY   LEGENDS 

SCENE  II.,  the  city  of  Philadelphia.  A  room  in  ARNOLD'S  head 
quarters.  Time,  January,  1780.  He  holds  in  his  hand  a 
•written  reprimand  from  General  Washington,  which  a  court- 
martial  had  ordered  administered.  He  paces  the  jloor  like  a 
caged  panther. 

ARNOLD. 

I  have  decided ! — Let  these  ragged  men, 
These  poverty-accoutred  colonists 
Playing  "  Republic  "  at  a  dime  a  day, 
Shirk  for  themselves — stripped  of  their  strongest  hope ! 
This  hacked-up  sword,  that  I  so  oft  have  worn 
In  a  red  sheath  of  blood — blood  of  their  foes — 
And  been  abused  for  all  my  pains  and  pain, 
Shall  join  the  cast-off  cutlery  of  fools, 

{Throwing  it,  crashing,  to  the  floor. 
And  I  will  take  the  bright,  gold-hiked  blade, 
Flashing  with  gems,  that  England  offers  me — 
Then  hew  and  stab  my  way  to  wealth  and  power. 
A  nation  fights  for  self — why  not  a  man  ? 
Man  is  a  nation !  with  rich  provinces 
Of  heart  and  soul  and  brain  ;  and  his  success 
Is  more  to  him  than  other  men's  to  him ! 

They'll  say,  "  He  is  a  traitor."     Let  them  howl ! 

Has  not  Dame  Nature  given  me  the  cue  ? 

The  white  frost  is  a  traitor  to  the  vine ; 

The  head-wind  is  a  traitor  to  the  sail ; 

The  tempest  is  a  traitor  to  the  ship ; 

The  conflagration  traitor  to  the  house — 

And  all  were  friends — until  good  reasons  changed 


SIXTH    CHAIN  135 

Their  love  to  venom.    And  have  I  not  cause 
To  shift  my  blood-drenched  loyalty  about  ? 
What  has  this  puling  "  nation,"  with  thirteen 
Unluckily  numbered  colonies,  e'er  done 
To  pay  me  for  myself  ? — What  has  it  given  ? 
Honor? — What  flags  has  this  frail  sinking  craft 
With  which  to  cover  even  a  chieftain's  corpse  ? 
My  epaulettes  are  rags ;  my  titles  scorned 
By  the  same  foe  that  I  so  oft  have  driven. 
The  English  call  him  "  Mr.  Washington," 
And  me  plain  Arnold.     Honor! — a  good  jokef 
So,  what  have  these  wild  upstarts  given  me, 
To  pay  me  for  myself?     Is't  money? — Well, 
When  brass  breeds  gold,  and  lead  yields  diamonds, 
And  promises  are  dollars,  then  my  pay 
Will  be  a  general's  meed,  and  not  a  serf's! 

What  has  this  Congress  given  to  me  ?     One  who 
Had  suffered  fifty  deaths  that  they  might  live — 
Had  climbed  and  swam  from  Boston  to  Quebec- 
Had  conquered  cataracts,  and  frosts,  and  cliffs, 
Then  fallen — wounded  almost  to  the  death — 
Fighting  for  them  ? — what  dulcet  word  of  cheer 
Has  Congress  offered  me  to  heal  my  wounds? 
"  Spendthrift,  come  here  and  settle  your  accounts !" 
When  I  on  Lake  Champlain  stood  by  my  ship 
'Mid  smoking,  crackling  masts,  and  sails,  and  spars — 
And  still  fought  with  the  foe — fought  them  from  hell  !— 
What  did  they  do  to  pay  me  for  my  blood? 
Promoted  men  above  me,  who  had  yet 
To  learn  the  smell  of  powder!    When  beneath 


136  CITY    LEGENDS 

My  fallen  steed  a  duel  I  had  waged 

With  the  foe's  army — what  magnificent  gift 

Did  Congress  tender  me  ? — Another  horse  ! 

As  if  to  say,  "  If  you  will  ride  to  death 

In  our  supreme  behalf,  we'll  pay  your  fare."  .  .  . 

The  card  is  played! — I  am  a  British  subject! — 

A  VOICE  seems  to  speak  to  him  : 
Arnold,  beware  ! — A  traitor's  name 

Is  heavy  to  be  borne ; 
Drag  not  your  life  through  sloughs  of  shame — 

Seek  not  a  nation's  scorn ! 
He  who  betrays  his  land  of  birth, 
Betrays  all  nations  of  the  earth. 

Arnold,  step  back  ! — You  stand  before 

The  coming  century's  tread  ! 
Men  yet  to  live  may  curse  you  sore, 

Long  after  you  are  dead ! 
The  brave  man  treacherous  to  the  brave, 
Must  suffer,  even  in  the  grave. 

ARNOLD  (fiercely,  grasping  his  sword  from  the  floor). 
Whose  voice  is  that  ?     Coward,  come  out  and  fight ! 
Clash  not  dull  words  with  me ;  but  try  your  sword. 
Who  are  you  ?  [An  interval  of  silence. 

No  one's  here.  ...  It  was  my  fancy. 
I  am  alone.     Yet  Solitude  to-day 
Is  grievous  company.     I'll  call  my  servant, 
And  test  him  slyly  if  he'll  go  with  me.  [Rings. 

Enter  MIKE,  a  servant. 


SIXTH  CHAIN  137 

ARNOLD. 
Mike,  this  is  quite  a  long  and  weary  war. 

MIKE. 

Yes,  sirrh,  but  bedad  it  '11  be  longher  and  strongher 
and  higher  and  lower  and  deeper  and  bloodier — before 
we  ever  give  up  ! 

Bedad,  before  we'll  ever  give  up — we'll  foight  'em  till 
we  can  foight  no  more  —  and  aftherwards,  too — a  long 
time  aftherwards,  bedad. 

ARNOLD. 
Mike,  there  are  those  who  think  we  best  had  yield. 

MIKE. 

YALDE?  —  GIVE  UP?  — SURRENDHER?  Sure,  sirrh, 
that  will  never  happen  until  the  hottest  place  known  in 
sachred  or  profane  histhory  frazes  over ;  and  then,  bedad, 
we'll  put  on  the  skates  and  have  at  'em ! 

Gineral,  I  have  two  little  bize — one  of  them  a  girrul ; 
sure  this  same  little  girrul,  she  is  growin'  up  to  be  her 
mother,  right  over  and  over  again,  widout  her  infirmities 
of  temper. 

Gineral,  I  like  that  little  girrul  pretty  well ;  sure  she  is 
the  only  crature  in  the  wurruld  that  ever  set  me  to 
writhin'  po'try !  and  I  sind  her  poems  ivery  day  that  no 
one  but  hersilf  can  undherstand,  and  she  not  ould 
enough ; 

I  fell  in  love  wid  her  the  very  day  she  was  born,  and 
me  love — it  has  incr'ased  daily  since. 

But,  Gineral,  sooner  than  I  would  see  our  little  Re 
public  surrendher,  I  would  take  that  little  girrul,  kiss 
her  good-bye,  and  lay  her  away  in  her  coffin  forever. 

[Exit. 


138  CITY  LEGENDS 

ARNOLD. 

Good  heavens!  how  drear  and  lonely  'tis,  even  now, 
This  turning  on  one's  Country !  but  'tis  done ; 
The  card  is  played ;  I  am  a  British  subject ! 


SCENE  III.,  a  hotel  room  near  the  city  of  London  in  1794 — twelve 
years  after  the  close  of  the  Revolutionary  War.  An  American 
sits  alone  at  a  table  -writing.  A  card  is  handed  him  by  a 
servant. 

AMERICAN. 

Ah,  Talleyrand ! — what  can  he  want  with  me  ? 
Send  him  up. 

Enter  TALLEYRAND. 

Pardon,  Monsieur  Anderson? 

AMERICAN  (rising). 
General,  sir. 

TALLEYRAND. 

Pardon.    Parlez  vous  Frangais  ? 

AMERICAN. 
Not  well. 

TALLEYRAND. 

Then  let  us  in  the  English  talk, 
Which  I  know  little  of,  but  still  can  use. 
I  beg  you,  General,  listen  now  to  me. 
I  have  been  worked  much  for  my  country.     I 
Have  toiled  and  suffered  hard ;  it  gives  me  naught 
Except  allow  me  still  much  more  to  toil. 
It  says  to  me :  "  We  do  not  want  you  now  " ; 
England  replies,  "  We  do  not  want  you  here." 


SIXTH    CHAIN  139 

And  so  my  heart — true  to  my  country's  weal, 
I  carry  to  your  land  of  liberty, 
Hoping  my  fortune  may  be  nurtured  there, 
Till  it  and  I  rush  to  my  country's  aid. 
Meanwhile,  I  ask  you,  General,  that  you  give 
Me  letters  to  some  friends  in  yonder  land — 

AMERICAN  (rising  eagerly  to  his  feet). 
What,  friends  ? — You  say  I've  friends  out  there  ? — Speak 

quick. 
Who  are  they? — Let  me  know  their  names!— Speak 

quick ! 
You  shall  have  letters. — Speak ! 

TALLEYRAND  (shrugging  his  shoulders}. 

Why,  General, 

I  know  not  who  your  friends  may  be ;  I  know 
Who  mine  are ;  they  are  those  I  love  right  well — 
Those  that  are  true  to  me,  and  I  to  them ; 
I  hope  some  time  my  country  all  will  say, 
"  Talleyrand  was  our  friend."     Not  now,  but  some  time ! 
You  surely  have  friends  in  your  fatherland  ? 
Send  me  to  even  the  humblest! 

AMERICAN. 

Talleyrand, 

If  you  should  pace  my  country,  east  to  west, 
And  north  to  south,  and  cry  out  as  you  walked, 
"Where  are  the  friends  of  this  man? — A  reward 
I  offer  to  whome'er  to  me  will  bring 
A  friend  of  him  whose  name  this  letter  bears!" 
Then  you  would  cry  to  all  that  Western  land 
In  vain. — Yet  not  through  silence  would  you  walk: 
Curses  would  leap  at  you  from  every  door; 


140  CITY   LEGENDS 

Hate's  maledictions  pierce  you  through  and  through ; 
Scorn  would  creep  round  you  with  its  withering  hiss; 
Only  because  you  named  me  as  a  friend. 
Women  and  men  and  children  all  would  cry, 
"  Curse  him  forever !" 

TALLEYRAND. 

General,  why  is  that  ? 
Were  you  not  brave  ? 

AMERICAN  (laughing). 

BRAVE  ?  ask  them  was  I  not  ? 
Ask  any  one  that  e'er  crossed  swords  with  me, 
Was  I  not  brave  ?    Ask  you  of  any  one, 
Peer  or  subaltern,  where  was  I  i'  the  fight? 
Did  I  say  "Go,"  or  "Come!"     Brave? — try  me  now! 
I  was  th'  Achilles  of  the  western  fields ! 
Had  I  been  marshalled  in  the  Trojan  wars, 
Homer  my  praises  would  be  singing  yet! 
I  would  be  still  a  king  'mongst  western  kings — 
Had  I  been  true — 

TALLEYRAND. 

True  ? 

AMERICAN. 

Talleyrand,  list  to  me. 

You  speak  of  friends :  you  have  true  friends  on  earth — 
You  have  some  good  friends  in  th'  Elysian  fields: 
They  have  marched  on,  and  camp  there  till  you  come. 
Hearts  you  have  tied  to;  souls  that  reach  for  yours; 
You  know  not,  happy  man,  what  'tis  to  be 
Without  one  friend,  in  all  God's  threefold  realm ! 

TALLEYRAND. 
Without  one  friend  ? 


SIXTH  CHAIN  141 

AMERICAN. 

I  speak  it  with  my  heart ! 
I  have  no  friend  in  earth  or  heaven,  or  hell ! 
If  I  were  brought  before  the  bar  of  God, 
For  final  judgment,  and  it  should  be  said, 
"  If  there  be  any  one  in  all  this  throng 
Can  speak  one  word  for  him,  he  shall  be  saved," 
All  would  be  still,  in  thorny,  scornful  silence, 
And  I  be  pushed  down,  headlong,  to  my  doom. 
Worse  than  my  doom ;  for  Satan  would  appear 
At  his  white-heated  iron  gate,  and  shout, 
"  You  are  too  vile  to  come  as  others  do — 
Too  treacherous — you  would  give  away  the  pass! 
Delve  midst  the  sulphurous  filth  outside,  and  then 
Sneak  upward  from  beneath !" 

TALLEYRAND  (aside). 

Insane !— insane ! 

AMERICAN  (overhearing). 

No!  no!  too  sane!  too  sane!  would  I  might  rave! 
I  would  pay  well  for  lunacy's  drurii-roll 
To  drown  the  clamor  of  my  thoughts !    Too  sane ! 
God  gave  to  me  clear  brain — metallic  will — 
Warm  heart — credentials  of  a  prince  'mongst  men; 
But  after  me  that  treacherous  spirit  came — 
The  partner  of  all  traitor-craft;  the  one 
That  helped  foul  Judas  count  his  silver  coins, 
And  changed  them  into  lead  to  sink  his  soul ; 
That  crept  up  even  to  Satan  ere  he  fell, 
And  whispered,  "  You  can  rule  instead  of  God !" 

TALLEYRAND. 
For  God's  sake,  man,  who  are  you  ? — what  your  crime? 


142  CITY  LEGENDS 

AMERICAN. 

'Tis  hell  enough,  to  think  this  day  by  day; 
But  when  night  comes — the  horror-breeding  night- 
The  black  page  where  are  written  lurid  things 
We  will  not  see  or  hear  by  day — there  throng 
In  the  dull  currents  of  my  sleep — fierce  souls, 
Swarming  from  dread,  cold  silences  of  death. 
One  word  they  whisper  in  my  aching  ears, 
Till  it  becomes  a  shout !     It  walks  my  brain, 
And  leaves  its  tracks  in  branded  letters  there; 
Oh,  I  can  look  within,  and  read  it  now ! 
Midnight  court-martial  they  hold  over  me — 
They  try  me  o'er  and  o'er  for  the  same  crime ; 
No  one  is  there  to  speak  a  word  for  me ; 
And  the  same  verdict  always  follows — "  GUILTY!" 
And  the  same  sentence—"  Do  NOT  LET  HIM  DIE  !' 

TALLEYRAND. 
Tell  me  your  crime,  man,  tell  me ! 

AMERICAN. 

Talleyrand, 

You  yet  are  young ;  you  have  the  columns  still, 
Perchance,  of  swiftly  marching  years  to  form. 
Take  this  advice  from  an  old  worn-out  man — 
Worn  from  without — worn  threadbare  from  within ; 
Be  never  false  to  man ;  it  is  a  crime ; 
But  if  you  are,  man  some  time  may  forget  it. 
Be  never  false  to  woman ;  'tis  a  crime 
Greater ;  but  woman,  heaven-like,  may  forgive. 
Be  never  false  to  childhood ;  'tis  a  crime 
Worst  of  all  three ;  perhaps  God  may  forgive. 
But  ne'er  betray  your  country,  till  you  wish 
To  pull  the  red-hot  roof  of  hell  upon  you ! 


'I   HAVE  NO   FRIEND   IN   EARTH,  OR  HEAVEN,  OR  HELL 


SIXTH  CHAIN  143 

TALLEYRAND. 
What  did  you  do? 

AMERICAN. 

I'll  tell  you;  nearer!  nearer! 

Let  me  not  speak,  but  whisper  the  damned  truth! 
I  took  my  country's  honor  from  her  eyes, 
I  took  my  country's  favors  from  her  hand, 
I  took  my  country's  strongest-guarded  hope, 
Her  fortress,  heaven-walled  by  river  and  hill, 
Key  to  her  hopes — hope  of  the  centuries — 
I  took  all  these — intrusted  me  by  her — 
Took  them  in  my  black  hands  on  one  black  night, 
And — sold  them — sold  them — sold  them— sold  them — 

sold  them 

As  I  would  vend  a  paltry  patch  of  earth, 
As  I  would  huckster  off  a  senseless  beast — 
Sold  them  for  some  few  paltry  chips  of  gold — 
Of  rotting,  rotten,  senseless,  beastly  gold ! 
I  sold  the  Western  Hemisphere,  and  then, 
Poor  fool,  could  not  deliver  the  goods ! 

TALLEYRAND  (rising). 

YOUR  NAME! 

AMERICAN. 

Listen !  while  I  repeat  to  you  the  name 
Of  one  once  grandest  of  the  grand,  now  base — 
So  low  and  vile  that  men  would  not  even  use  it 
To  step  upon,  to  keep  them  from  the  mud ! 
BENEDICT  ARNOLD,  TRAITOR  ! 


SEVENTH   CHAIN 


Seventh  Cbain 

SCENE,  the  cosey  back  parlor  of  a  city  residence.  An  old-fashioned 
grandmother  is  sitting  in  the  most  pleasant  corner,  with  knit 
ting-work  on  her  lap.  A  lady  teacher  from  some  neighboring 
boarding-school  sits  near  by,  with  a  book  in  her  hand.  Sub 
dued  strains  of  music  come  from  the  front  parlor,  where  K.ATH- 
ERINE,  the  good  old  lady's  favorite  granddaughter,  is  practising 
a  brilliant  overture. 

GRANDMOTHER. 
I'm  glad  that  it  suited  you,  School-ma'am,  to  spend  a 

few  days  here  with  Kate : 
You're  both  of  you  fine -wove  and  crisp  -  like,  an' take 

to  each  other  first-rate. 
When  woman  -  hearts  tangle  together,  they  twist  round 

again  and  again, 
An'  make  up  a  queer  sort  o'  love-match  I  never  have 

noticed  in  men. 
And,  School-ma'am,  I'm   thriftily  anxious  about  this 

smart  gran'child  o'  mine, 
An'  want  to  talk  candid  about  her,  with  present  an' 

future  design. 


148  CITY  LEGENDS 

She's  hungry  for  other  folks'  knowledge,  an'  never  too 
full  to  be  fed; 

She's  packed  every  book  that  I  know  of,  all  open- 
leaved,  like,  in  her  head; 

The  'rithmetic  makes  its  home  with  her ;  the  grammar 
is  proud  of  her  tongue ; 

She  spells  words  as  if  she  had  made  'em,  'way  back 
when  the  language  was  young. 

She  knows  all  the  g'ography  found  yet ;  she'd  feel  in 
a  manner  at  home, 

If  dropped  in  the  streets  of  J'rus'lem,  or  woke  up  some 
mornin'  in  Rome. 

She's  studied  the  habits  of  planets — knows  how  to  call 
names  at  a  star — 

She's  traced  their  invisible  railroads,  an*  tells  what 
their  time-tables  are ; 

She's  learnin'  the  language  of  heathens,  that  good- 
minded  people  abhorred — 

A-thwartin'  the  old  Tower  of  Babel — undoin'  the  work 
of  the  Lord. 

Yes,  Teacher,  our  dear,  pretty  Kath'rine  is  very  sleek- 
minded  an'  smart ; 

But  still  I  can't  help  but  to  worry  concernin'  the 
breadth  o'  her  heart! 


TEACHER. 
Why !   sympathies  need    not   to    narrow,  because   the 

brain  clambers  above; 
The  more  that  a  genuine  heart  knows,  the  better  it 

knows  how  to  love. 


SEVENTH    CHAIN  149 

A  gem  was  all  crowded  with  splendor,  unseen  in  the 
gloom  of  the  mines: 

Tis  not  now  the  less  of  a  diamond  because  it  is  pol 
ished,  and  shines ! 

The  flower  that  was  hunted  by  wild  weeds,  thinks 
never  to  blossom  less  fair, 

Because  it  is  borne  to  a  garden,  and  tended  with  wis 
dom  and  care. 

A  lamp  in  the  sky  had  been  tarnished  by  cloud-birds 
that  flew  from  afar ; 

The  wind  swept  the  mist  from  its  brightness  —  it 
gleamed,  all  the  more  of  a  star ! 

Whate'er  is  at  fault  in  your  grandchild,  her  learning 
makes  easier  withstood ; 

Whatever  is  good  in  your  grandchild,  her  learning 
makes  only  more  good. 


GRANDMOTHER. 
That's    nice,  soothin"    sentiments,    School-ma'am,  an' 

helps  all  that  works  in  your  line; 
It's  one  o'  your  golden  opinions  —  I  wish  that  it  also 

was  mine ! 
But,  Teacher,  suppose  that  she  marries  —  the  knives 

of  her  brain  bright  and  keen — 
An'  knows  all  creation,  excep'  how  to  keep  her  house 

cosey  and  clean ! 
Suppose   when   her   husband   comes   home  tired,  the 

cheer  o'  her  table  to  seek, 
She  feeds  him  with  steak  that  is  soggy,  an'  tells  him 

its  meanin'  in  Greek? 


ISO  CITY    LEGENDS 

Suppose  that  her  coffee  is  muddy  as  if  it  was  dipped 

from  a  trench  : 
Will  that  make  his  stomach  less  homesick,  because  she 

can  tell  it  in  French  ? 
Suppose  that  her  help  is  her  master,  along  o'  the  things 

she  don't  know : 
Can  algebra  make  up  the  diff'rence,  or  grammar-books 

give  her  a  show? 
Oh,  School-ma'am,  those  women  keep  house  best  (with 

nothin'  to  say  ag'in  you) 
Who've  learned  to  keep  house  o'  their  mothers,  an' 

worked  all  its  alphabet  through! 


TEACHER. 

Your  grandchild  must  choose  for  her  husband  a  man 
with  an  intellect  wide, 

Who  makes  of  the  well  -  guarded  body  a  place  for  the 
soul  to  reside ; 

Whose  home  is  a  God  -  made  cathedral,  with  heart- 
blessings  clear-voiced  and  sweet ; 

Who  comes  back  at  night  for  soul -comfort — not  sim 
ply  for  what  he  can  eat. 

Who  thinks  with  her,  feels  with  her,  helps  her  —  has 
patience  for  both  of  their  sakes ; 

Who  celebrates  all  her  successes,  and  takes  stock  in 
all  her  mistakes. 

Who  treasures  her  well-taught  advantage  o'er  one  who 
unstudied  begins ; 

Who  welcomes  with  sweet -whispered  pleasure  each 
step  of  the  race  that  she  wins. 


SEVENTH    CHAIN  151 

Who  leads  her  to  minds  that  are  kindled  with  brands 

from  the  watch-fires  of  fame ; 
Who's  glad  that  her  lamp  has  been  trimmed  well,  to 

catch  the  clear  sanctified  flame. 


GRANDMOTHER. 
An'  if  she  shouldn't  find  this  cur'os'ty? 

TEACHER. 

Then  let  her  as  single  be  known ; 
And  thank  God  her  training  has  taught  her  to  work 
out  life's  problem  alone! 

GRANDMOTHER. 
But,  School-ma'am,  admittin'  your  arg'ment  (if  one  can 

"  admit "  what  one  don't), 
We'll  say  that  she'll  marry  an  angel  (though  likelier 

'twill  happen  she  won't) ; 
But  s'posin'  she  does,  an'  her  children  are  sent,  same 

as  others,  to  school : 
I  worry  'bout  whether  she'll  let  'em  be  taught  by  the 

brain-stuffin'  rule. 

It  hurts  me  to  see  'em  build  over  a  child  into  some 
body's  "  pride," 
Through   givin'   him    heartaches    each   week  -  day,  by 

poundin'  his  head  from  inside ! 
They  make  'em  bite  books  with  their  teethin';  grown 

learnin'  runs  all  through  their  play ; 
They're  killin'  the  children  by  inches,  with  five  or  six 

studies  a  day. 


1 52  CITY    LEGENDS 

They  load  'em  with  large  definitions  —  as  big  as  the 
children  are  small ; 

Ah  me !  it's  a  wonder  the  poor  things  twist  up  into 
old  folks  at  all ! 

There's  many  a  poor  little  cre'tur'  with  other  folks' 
words  over-filled, 

Not  only  "  made  mad  "  by  "  much  learning,"  but  weak 
ened  an'  sickened  an'  killed ! 

There's  many  a  green  little  grass-mound,  whose  tenant 
would  say,  could  it  talk, 

"I  died  by  their  tryin'  to  run  me,  before  I  was  able 
to  walk !" 

TEACHER. 

A  blessing's  no  less  of  a  blessing,  because  by  some  one 
'tis  abused ; 

The  air,  fire,  and  water  can  murder  —  and  yet  they  all 
have  to  be  used. 

The  steed  that  we  drive  to  the  river,  is  tempted,  not 
tortured,  to  drink ; 

The  child  should  be  given  thought-burdens — but  only 
to  teach  him  to  think. 

Take  comfort  from  now  for  the  future ;  for  Katherine, 
with  all  that  she  knows, 

Is  bright  as  a  dollar  just  minted,  and  fresh  as  a  new- 
blossomed  rose. 

GRANDMOTHER. 
But,  School-  ma'am,  I  worry  (you  notice  I'm  built  in  a 

worryin'  way, 
And  ne'er  will  learn  how  not  to  worry,  clean  up  to  my 

uttermost  day) 


"THERE'S    MANY    A   GREEN    LITTLE   GRASS-MOUND' 


SEVENTH   CHAIN  153 

'Bout  whether  my  granddaughter  Kath'rine  will  nour 
ish  her  children  to  home, 

Or  let  them  run  loose,  so  she  sweetly  through  chari 
ty's  pleasures  can  roam? 

I  worried  my  children  up  safely — I  care  for  my  grand 
children  too — 

I  want  my  great-grandchildren  cared  for — so  their  chil 
dren  also  will  do. 

Just  read  how  three  poor  little  creatur's,  who — born 
too  luxurious  and  high 

To  reach  happy  home  and  its  comforts  —  were  left  by 

their  mother  to  die ! 
TEACHER  reads  from  a  scrap-book: 


KIDNAPPED   IN   MERCY 


Through    long,  bright    paths    of   The    Gold    Streeted 

Town, 

Three  angels  walked,  one  day,  to  make  a  tour 
In  the  rude  country  districts  of  wide  space. 
They  sped  past  mansions  built  of  costly  gems — 
Past  steeples,  minarets,  and  spires  of  gold ; 
They  crossed  a  coral  bridge  on  silver  wires, 
Swinging  above  a  clear-voiced  stream ;  they  walked 
Through  parks  that  in  their  laps  held  sweet  bouquets, 
And  in  their  hands  waved  grand,  immortal  trees; 
They  passed  through  all  heart-splendors  realized — 
Through  every  pure  dream  of  their  lives— come  true ! 


154  CITY  LEGENDS 

Now,  ere  they  stepped  out  into  cold,  wide  space, 

And  turned  the  cloud-like  hill  that  hid  The  Town, 

They  trained  their  eyes  on  the  magnificence 

Of  the  half-distant  city,  as  if  going 

For  many  years — instead  of  one  short  day. 

Along  the  dusty  turnpikes  of  cold  space, 
These  angels  walked ;  they  crossed  wide  avenues 
That  led  to  stars  of  various  size  and  tint. 
One  there  was,  where  a  gilded  finger-post 
Said,  "  To  the  planet  Venus."     There  was  one 
That  read,  "  This  way  to  Neptune." — All  the  stars 
Were  listed  in  the  guideposts  that  they  saw. 

And  yet  they  turned  not,  right  nor  left ;  although 
Their  passports,  sealed  in  Heaven,  would  shelter  them 
Where'er  they  willed  to  go :  they  could  have  known 
Where  queenly  Saturn  found  her  diamond  rings ; 
How  the  striped  juggler,  Jupiter,  can  toss 
Four  worlds  as  playthings  round  his  stalwart  form; 
They  could  have  seen  th'  attendants  of  the  sun 
Feed  full  each  hour  his  hot  electric  fires; 

They  passed  all  these,  and  came  to  a  small  lane, 
Barred  by  a  gate,  sagging  on  one  weak  hinge, 
With  slats  part  stained  and  rusted  o'er  with  blood, 
But  now  and  then  a  wire  of  pure  bright  gold ; 
Whose  latch  was  set  with  bright  bewildering  gems, 
One  view  of  which  built  passion's  wildest  fire ; 
But  with  sharp,  gleaming  knives  concealed  within, 
That  cut  the  hand  that  lifted  up  the  latch. 


SEVENTH    CHAIN  155 

This  was  a  road  to  Earth ;  and  here  they  paused, 
Raised  the  bright,  treacherous  bolt,  and  entered  through. 
Earth  once  had  been  their  own  sweet,  bitter  home, 
And  still  they  sadly  loved  to  visit  here. 

Through  flowers  almost  as  sweet  as  Heaven  could  grow, 
Through   loathsome,   bad -faced   weeds   that    bit   and 

stung, 

Past  silver-throated  birds  that  made  the  trees, 
Even,  seem  to  sing — o'er  serpents  coiled  and  fierce — 
Past  wild  brutes  that  would  tear  the  world  in  two, 
And  white,  sweet  lambs  that  loved  their  angel  guests, 
And  journeyed  after  them,  and  kissed  their  hands — 
Down  this  long,  crooked,  sharp-contrasted  lane, 
These  angels  walked :  they  were  upon  The  Earth. 

No  scenery  here,  but  was  each  hour  surpassed 

In  their  new  home ;  no  architecture  grand, 

More  than  a  feeble  parody  on  Heaven. 

What  walked  they  here  to  see? — They  came  to  help. 

In  a  rough  city  road  they  met  with  three 

Small  children,  wandering  desolate  about, 

Searching  for  something  that  would  feed  their  minds, 

And  please  their  fancies ;  searching  wistfully, 

And  weariedly,  and  with  sad  countenance, 

For  something  that  would  cheer  their  desolate  hearts. 

One  was  a  tiny  warrior :  he  had  fought 

With  coarser  urchins,  till  his  chubby  face 

Was  scratched  and  bruised ; — one  was  a  pretty  girl, 


I$6  CITY    LEGENDS 

Who  made  herself  believe  that  rows  of  stones 
Were  mansion  walls ;  she  had  her  little  rooms, 
Each  with  the  sky  for  ceiling.     In  one  nook, 
She  kept  a  homely,  patched-up  doll,  and  oft 
Above  it  crooned,  and  kissed  it  with  love-looks. 
Another  little  girl,  with  dark,  weird  eyes, 
Was  gazing  at  the  clouds,  as  if  she  longed 
To  fly  with  them.     But  all  looked  desolate ; 
And  near  to  them,  three  loathsome  shadow-fiends 
Laughed  with  each  other — at  the  children  leered — 
And  whispered,  "  They  are  certain  to  be  ours." 

By  toil,  and  pain,  and  many  a  prayer  to  God, 
The  angels  dressed  themselves  in  mortal  shape, 
And  kindly  called  the  children. — They  all  came, 
With  tears  of  pleasure  framed  in  eager  eyes, 
And  hunger  in  their  hearts.     Twas  many  a  day 
Since  they  had  had  such  restful,  loving  words. 

"  Where  is  your  mother,  little  one  ?"  was  asked. 

"  Oh,  she  is  at  a  grand  reception,  ma'am." 

"  Where  was  she  yesterday  ?"    "  At  some  great  feast, 

With  many  other  ladies." — "Day  before?" 

"  Out  at  the  Home  for  Helpless  Children,  ma'am." 

"  When  does  she  let  you  see  her  ?" — "  Only  just 

Once  in  a  while.     But  Nurse  is  good  to  us, 

And  goes  and  visits  with  another  nurse, 

And  lets  us  run  about,  and  play  alone." 

"  Where  is  your  father,  little  ones  ?"  was  said. 
"  Why,  Papa  ? — let  me  see — we  have  one  yet — 


SEVENTH   CHAIN  157 

He  lives  in  town,  but  stays  at  our  house  nights. 
I  saw  him,  only  just  a  month  ago. 
He's  very  large  and  pretty — but — he  scowls. 
He's  getting  rich,  or  something  of  that  kind." 

And  still  the  shadow-fiends  together  laughed, 
And  whispered  to  each  other,  "  They  are  ours." 


II 

Once  more  through  paths  of  The  Gold  Streeted  Town 
These  angels  walked ;  and  at  Heaven's  outer  gate 
Another  angel  joined  them— dressed  in  black. 

Far  in  the  country  districts  of  wide  space, 

Again  they  journeyed.— When,  this  time,  was  reached 

The  gate  of  Earth— Night  stood  there,  dark  and  cold. 

Through  the  long,  winding  lane  they  walked ;  and  then 
On  silent  streets,  by  Earth's  great  shadow  hushed. 

Through  thrice-locked  doors,  up  lofty  velvet  stairs 
Of  a  great  mansion,  crept  the  silent  four. 
Three  children  lay  upon  luxurious  cots, 
Restlessly  sleeping  :  one,  with  tear-stained  face, 
Mourned  the  lost,  threadbare  doll  she  loved  so  well ; 
Another  curved  his  brow  and  shook  his  fist 
Against  some  foe  he  had  in  Dreamland  met; 
The  third  lay  sleeping,  with  a  pretty  smile, 
Half  hoping  and  half  sure  her  dreams  were  true ; 


158  CITY   LEGENDS 

But  all  looked  piteous,  sad,  and  desolate. 
And  over  them  the  loathsome  shadow-fiends 
Laughed  with  each  other — at  the  children  leered — 
And  whispered,  "  They  are  certain  to  be  ours." 

Softly  the  angel  clothed  in  black  bent  down, 
And  kissed  the  little  sleepers ;  a  slight  pang 
Vexed  each  pale  face,  and  then  three  forms  emerged 
From  the  frail  bodies,  looking  like  to  them, 
But  purer  far,  and  sweeter.     With  a  smile, 
They  gazed  up  at  the  looks  of  love  they  saw, 
And  trembling  with  the  first  pure  heart-delight 
They  ever  yet  had  known,  soft  kissed  the  lips 
That  bent  to  them  and  whispered,  "  Come  with  us." 
And  then  they  walked  to  The  Gold  Streeted  Town. 

Then  Faith,  one  of  the  angels,  said,  "  Right  true 
We  were  to  these  sweet  colonists  of  ours; 
And  it  has  been  as  God  said  it  must  be." 
And  Hope  replied,  "  The  lives  we  have  just  saved 
Will  learn  to  help  and  pity  other  lives." 
And  Charity — chief  of  the  three — exclaimed, 
"  Poor  parents !  when  they  find  their  little  ones 
Sleeping  so  cold,  with  Death's  thin  covering, 
They  will  remember  all  the  sad  neglect 
Their  careless  selfishness  around  them  threw, 
And  some  time  will  be  richer  for  their  loss." 

And  Death  said,  "  Farewell ;  I  can  only  go 
Far  as  the  gates;  I  ne'er  can  enter  in; 


SEVENTH   CHAIN  159 

I  do  God's  work,  but  never  see  His  home ;" 

And  wrapped  his  black  cloak  round  him,  and  was  gone. 


GRANDMOTHER. 
Now  s'p'osin'  that  Kath'rine  should  turn  out  a  mother 

like  that  one,  some  day, 
An'  let  my  great -gran'childr'n  suffer  till  Heaven  had 

to  take  'em  away? 
Suppose,  that  in  holdin'  together  outside  homes  that 

pull  at  her  heart, 
She  let's  her  own  fam'ly  run  helpless,  an'  sees  her  own 

home  fall  apart? 
She's  al'ays  herself  sacrificin'  for  others ;  which,  when 

people  do, 
They'll  sacrifice,  if  they  ain't  careful,  the  ones  that  is 

nearest  'em,  too. 

TEACHER. 

If  love  and  not  pride  is  the  reason  our  good  deeds 
about  us  are  strown, 

They  help  us  be  true  to  our  loved  ones  —  they  make 
us  more  fond  of  our  own. 

If  Charity  feeds  on  Heaven's  goodness,  and  not  on 
Earth's  senseless  display, 

'Twill  care  first  for  those  who  are  nearest,  and  lead 
them  the  same  lofty  way. 

True  Charity  comes  from  the  heart  -  depths,  and  not 
from  pride's  glittering  foam ; 

Remember — "  the  light  that  shines  farthest,  shines  al 
ways  the  brightest  at  home!" 


l6o  CITY    LEGENDS 

GRANDMOTHER. 
But,  Teacher,  I  worry  'cause  Kath'rine — of  nothin*  par- 

tic'l'r  afraid — 
Gets  humbugged,  annoyed,  an'  imposed  on,  by  those 

she  is  tryin'  to  aid ; 
The  folks  that  she  lends,  never  pay  her;  the  gratitude 

does  not  come  roun'; 
I  b'lieve  that  that  girl  has  been  humbugged   by  half 

of  the  beggars  in  town ! 

TEACHER. 

Life  throngs  with  experiments ;  most  things  we  do  are 
the  planting  of  grain  • 

Perhaps  we  are  building  gold  harvests  —  perchance  we 
may  fruitless  remain. 

On  ruins  of  many  a  century  the  edifice  stands  as  we 
gaze; 

A  splendid  success,  loved  of  Heaven,  full  many  a  fail 
ure  repays. 

[  Turns  a  few  leaves  of  the  scrap-book,  and  reads  : 

LADY  BOUNTIFUL'S  TRIUMPH 

She  was  modestly  winsome,  and  stylishly  fair, 

And  the  sunbeams  had   spun  the   rich   skeins  of  her 

hair, 

And  her  eyes  were  as  bright  as  pure  diamonds  be, 
And  her  form  had  the  grace  of  a  zephyr-tossed  tree; 
She  was  "  pretty,"  some  whispered,  and   "  handsome," 

some  said, 
And  "  beautiful "  others  described  her  instead ; 


SEVENTH    CHAIN  l6l 

And  covetous  glances  were  after  her  sent, 
And  flattery  followed  wherever  she  went. 

And  her  heart  was  as  soft  as  her  ribbons  were  gay, 
And  she  loved  all  the  world,  in  a  general  way 
(For  the  hard  jailer  Fashion,  with  all  of  his  art, 
Cannot  chain  up  a  really  generous  heart), 
And  her  white  hand  was  open,  to  prince  or  to  boor, 
If  he  only  was  ragged,  and  wretched,  and  poor. 

And  her  husband  coined  lucre  from  day  unto  day, 
And  she  faithfully  struggled  to  give  it  away ; 
For  if  he  from  the  world  to  win  gold  had  a  knack, 
She  esteemed  it  her  part  to  pay  some  of  it  back ! 
And  Charity  knows  very  well  how  it  thrives, 
When  'tis  zealously  managed  by  rich  people's  wives; 
There's  many  a  lady,  whose  alms  would  ill  fare, 
If  it  wasn't  for  a  selfish  old  husband  somewhere ! 

And  he  smiled  on  her  giving  (she  gave,  as  he  knew, 
A  dollar,  where  he  made  a  thousand  or  two) ; 
But  his  smile  had  the  feel  of  a  good-natured  sneer; 
For  he  fought  with  the  world,  and  approached  it  more 

near; 

And  he  noticed  that  all  is  not  Want  that  complains, 
And  that  Charity  often  is  scorned  for  its  pains ; 
That  the  unctuous  asking  of  alms  is  a  gift, 
And  that  Poverty,  sometimes,  itself,  is  a  thrift ; 
And  that  he  who  will  carelessly  bounties  accord, 
Oft  is  lending  to  Satan,  instead  of  the  Lord. 


l62  CITY    LEGENDS 

And  the  first  piteous  mortal  she  happened  to  meet, 
Was  a  woe-begone  beggar,  who  crept  thro'  the  street ; 
With  face  properly  sad  and  form  carefully  bent, 
And  a  mien  that  strewed  sorrow  wherever  he  went. 
And  she  wondered  what  terrible  lot  could  be  worse, 
And  gave  him  such  cash  as  she  had  in  her  purse; 
And  then  went  home  at  once,  with  a  face  like  the 

sun, 
With  her  husband  to  share  the  good  deed  she  had 

done. 

But  he  laughingly  said,  when  she  pictured  her  friend, 
"  That  poor  scamp  has  a  bank  -  book,  and  money  to 

lend." 

And  she  wept  with  vexation ;  and  vowed  not  to  give 
To  a  beggar  again,  long  as  Heaven  let  her  live. 

And  a  little  while  after,  it  chanced  to  befall, 
That  a  sad-looking  gentleman  made  her  a  call, 
With  late  news  from  her  pastor ;  which  bade  her  ex 
tend 

To  this  brother  afflicted,  the  hand  of  a  friend. 
And  the  sad-looking  man  drew  a  picture  of  gloom 
Of  a  sick,  wretched  wife,  in  a  comfortless  room  ; 
Of  the  bad  luck  around  him  accustomed  to  lurk, 
And  the  way  he  had  worked,  that  he  might   obtain 

work; 

And  he  made  her  believe,  that  if  help  were  not  found, 
He    would   starve,  ere    another  bright  Sabbath   came 

round. 

Then  he  offered  for  sale — sadly  resolute  still — 
A  small  one-dollar  book  for  a  ten-dollar  bill. 


SEVENTH    CHAIN  163 

And  sweet  sympathy  warmed  up  her  heart,  through  and 

through, 

And  instead  of  one  book,  she  invested  in  two ; 
And  she  waited  her  husband's  home-coming,  to  run 
And  share  with  his  heart  the  good  deed  she  had  done. 
But  the  afternoon  paper  contained  a  hot  sketch 
Of   this    scamp,   whom    it    called    "an    unprincipled 

wretch," 

Informing  an  oft-told  community  how 
He  had  swindled  for  months,  and  was  swindling  them 

now ; 

And  it  gave  a  long  history,  gloomy  with  fact, 
And  a  full-length  description,  absurdly  exact. 
So  her  husband  she  met  with  a  pain-chastened  grace, 
And  a  queer  look  of  innocent  shame  in  her  face; 
And  instead  of  her  setting  his  heart  all  astir, 
He  employed  the  whole  evening  in  comforting  her, 
And  she  vowed,  if  she  lived  to  be  ninety  years  old, 
Of  no  agent  again  would  she  buy,  and  be  sold. 

And  the  next  case  of  pity  her  heart  chanced  to  greet, 
Was  a  hand-organ  woman  who  sat  in  the  street ; 
Who,  old  and  unfeminine,  said  not  a  word, 
And  played  a  queer  tune  that  could  scarcely  be  heard. 
And  'twas  plainly  apparent,  and  hard  not  to  see, 
There  were  two  wooden  stumps  where  her  feet  ought 

to  be. 

And  our  sweet  Lady  Bountiful's  heart  nestled  near 
This  sister,  so  palpably  wretched  and  drear ; 
And  she  gave  her  enough,  moved  by  Charity's  call, 
To  buy  the  dame  out— legs,  hand-organ,  and  all. 


.164  CITY  LEGENDS 

And  she  went  home  at  night  with  her  heart  all  aglow 
With  the  help  she  had  given  to  this  daughter  of  woe; 
And  this  sweet-bread  of  deeds — like  a  generous  child — 
She  shared  with  her  best  friend,  who  praised  her,  and 

smiled ; 

For  he  knew  all  the  time,  and  so,  shortly,  did  she, 
That  this  pauper  of  streets  was  as  rich  as  need  be ; 
And  had  married  a  daughter,  with  splendor  quite  rare, 
And  had  given  to  her  jewels  a  duchess  could  wear.* 
And  our  dear  Lady  Bountiful  drooped  with  dismay, 
At  having  been  tricked  in  this  high-handed  way, 
And  vowed  none  again  with  her  bounty  to  greet, 
Unless  blessed  with  the  requisite  number  of  feet. 

And  the  next,  and   the  next,  and  the  next,  and  the 

next 
Of  the  times   she   was  tricked,  made   her  almost  as 

vexed ; 

But  there  came,  one  dark  evening,  a  gleam  of  surprise, 
From  a  woman  whose  heart  had  a  home  in  her  eyes ; 
Whose  words  sweetly  warmed  her  fair  friend ;  for  they 

burned 

With  gratitude  true,  that  had  truly  been  earned. 
And   she   murmured,  "  To   me  you    are    dearer   than 

breath ; 

You  snatched  me  from  sorrow,  and  suffering,  and  death ; 
You  lifted  a  burden  my  soul  could  not  bear; 
You  tided  me  over  the  rocks  of  despair. 

*  This  was  also  true  of  a  certain  Parisian  beggaress,  who  ex 
ploited  the  pedal  outfit  above  described. 


SEVENTH    CHAIN  165 

You  saved  me  my  daughter — my  husband — my  son; 
God  bless  you  and  yours,  for  the  deeds  you  have  done !" 

And  the  lady's  tired  heart  on  this  gratitude  fed, 
For  her  husband  had  happened  to  hear  what  was  said ; 
And  the  man  of  the  world — as  a  tear  graced  his  eye — 
Felt  as  if  he  had  news  from  the  world  in  the  sky ; 
And  he   said   to  his  wife,  as  her  gemmed   hand  he 

pressed, 
"  This  transaction  defrays  the  expense  of  the  rest." 


GRANDMOTHER. 

But,  Teacher,  I'll  tell  my  main  trouble  (though  less 
than  the  ones  I  have  said) ; 

I'm  gettin'  behind  the  times  daily,  while  Kate  keeps 
a-gettin'  ahead. 

She'll  grow  a  fine  lady,  and  nothin'  between  us  in  com 
mon  there'll  be; 

Now  don't  you  think,  some  time  or  other,  that  Kate  '11 
be  'shamed,  like,  of  me  ?" 

KATE  (entering  and  kissing  GRANDMOTHER). 
Ashamed  of  you?    Never! — I'd   give   more  for  one 

silver  hair  of  your  head, 
Than  all  of  the   studies   I   know  of,  and  all  of  the 

authors  I've  read! 
Do  you   know,  you  absurd   dear  old  grandma',  your 

heart  and  your  brain  are  more  aid, 
Than  all  of  the  sciences  heard  of,  and  all  of  the  books 

ever  made ! 


166  CITY    LEGENDS 

No  process  that  man  has  discovered,  will  act  out  affec 
tion's  pure  part ; 

The  brain  of  the  head  is  a  failure,  compared  to  the 
brain  of  the  heart ! 

Ashamed  of  you  ?  Let  your  grand  life-work  an  answer 
unqualified  be ! 

Pray  God  that  my  life  may  be  lived  so  you'll  never  be 
"  'shamed  like  "  of  me  ! 


THE  END 


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